the sheets are too scratchy and they dont smell like you anymore
i guess they’ve moved on -
i wish i could say the same.
your fingerprints still painted on my thighs,
i don’t know how to wash you away.
i dont know if i want to wash you away.
im rocking back and forth and time has become a feeling,
time is heavy, it weighs me down and sinks in.
it holds me and i am trapped -
1 year in the grand scheme of things is a simple sigh.
1 year with you was enough to wake me up,
bring me to life, show me how it felt
to fall asleep with a quiet mind, because you
were besides me. it was long enough that your name
will always make my ears perk up. long enough
for you to teach me how to love someone
who doesnt love me back. i cant explain this
and as a poet thats supposed to be my job,
but whatever this was was something
like honey, golden, sweet, a slight zing,
you were golden in the mornings whne we both awoke
right before dawn, when the summers day caught up to you
and it became a summers night, the way the sunsets hues
would dance off of the river. you were sweet
like soft serve ice cream, like how it feels to
see the first flower in spring, a red tulip. You were sweet
and to the point and maybe that had a lot to do with it,
you were zing-y, you had fire in your soul. telling me
how it was, a slight hint of sarcasm to your tone keeping me on my toes,
for months and months because i ridiculously thought and prayed
it would all lead to you falling into my arms -
instead it became rocky as if we were on a ship at sea,
no more smooth sailing, you and i could’ve put the titanic to shame.
that was 2017 and its been a whole year now but
look at who i still write about till my fingers ache. my friends
tell me i do not make sense, tell me to forget, but they don’t know
how your hand felt in mine, your thighs pressed around me, like a life vest.
i used to scream for you to hear my words, my pain
you never did respond so now i sit in silence and dream of how it felt
last summer when my sheets were warm from you, when i was warm
from you.
now i sit here and i write on this blog that no one will care about
i write here instead of texting because i dont feel like being ignored
i prefer to skip small talk but you prefer to skip me.
its 2018 and i am here writing of you and my bed doesnt smell like you anymore
but if i close my eyes i can almost remember
almost
origamiaround
gummygunk
stormborns
romaincrisis
baratheonpilled
blakekathryn
andulkaphoto
theartofmadeline
