Sometimes myths are based on reality

love like this

was practically a myth

before you changed my mind

and showed me that it does exist.

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Dear So & So

Dear So & So,

It’s been 5 years— I wonder if you’d recognize me; this face, this countenance, the expressions I make.

Would I recognize you? If I did, it wouldn’t surprise me. To remember your smirk, your reserved mannerisms earnestly reaching towards me, the way that your eyes would crinkle upwards as you gave a genuine laugh— would I?

Are you still the same? Cause what I don’t remember is the sound of my name on your lips, articulated by your tongue and echoed through your diaphragm. I don’t remember the sound of your laugh whether it was light and happy or if it was given nervously, timidly as if you were scared that someone would take it and force it back into your mouth and swallow down the reason why you ever dared to open up.

I also don’t remember the look that your eyes had. What I like to think is that they looked lost.I believe that they did— no. I know that they did. That the way your eyes looked out into the world was as if they desired, longed, wished, wanted, lusted— that all their owner ever wanted, needed was someone to ease their loneliness. I think, I think that they looked at me that way. They told me that it was me. I thought that it was me.

Yet, 5 years have told me otherwise. The way that my phone doesn’t ring, the way that a message with your face doesn’t appear, the way that my email inbox doesn’t have your name attached to it: they all tell me it wasn’t me. Right now, I finally realize, I finally know that it wasn’t me.

So if I saw you at a glance, would I recognize you? Yes, I would, but I’ll pretend that I didn’t.

Wishing you the best, even though I do not know what that means anymore.

Sincerely,

Saying that I don’t care

The Charm

Silver and small

The way that light hits each link

Makes it appear

Like a lobster’s claw.

Attached,

Somehow,

Is a behemoth.

It stands.

Four legs.

A trunk.

A tail.

Its ears;

Perfectly large-

Trunk so happily lifted high,

It could shower water at any time.

The links it grasps-

A pair of hearts.

You can feel the love coming from them-

They link together.

Dear life they represent;

Small,

But they mean

So much

To the one

That holds them.

They are smooth.

They are harsh.

Love,

Is not

A

Smooth ride.

It Waits

It comes back no matter what room I’m in.

No matter how many times,

It comes back twice as tall.

It waits,

Waiting for me to go through it.

I’m dreading that it will remind me

That every

Single,

Lonely

Person

That comes into contact with it,

That it exists,

That they

Couldn’t

Care

Less

About me.

Never Loved

Can you say that you actually loved him

With all those men that you’re rolling through,

Those comments you’re posting on the internet,

The unprecedented shade you’re throwing,

Blasting on him to whoever who will listen?

Good girl gone bad my bootylicious ass,

You were that way right from the start.

The way that you carry yourself tells me different,

You never really loved him to begin with.

 

 

The Willow of Richmond Street

In the spreading willow branches

I find myself swinging into the clouds,

Grabbing onto it’s long, tendrils and spiraling myself

                   Down,

                                                                    Down,

          Down,

                                         Down.

Leaving those budding branches of life

Reaching into open air and crashing onto the ground

Sending uprooted dirt into the air

Like a less flashy Fourth of July

Splintering, pushing and breaking all the objects

That came in between the reestablished relationship

That I and the earth had rekindled.

Such was the death of the 43 year old Willow tree

That my father planted upon attaining this house.