Dear Poetry,


Thank you for waiting

I apologize for my absence

I suppose I’ve been living

It’s a mistake that I make

and one, I fear,

I’ll keep making.


My overwhelming selfishness

for experience

precious gems and found jewels

There’s some goodness out there

I swear!

Some reason why

I keep shutting this journal’s covers

Ignoring your words

your verse

The way you manipulate every curse

and turn it into magic

The prize for a wound

a free-therapy trick


I had a physical this morning

The doctor drained my blood

-checked my lungs

-took my pulse

But didn’t ask if I was writing

I should’ve listed that

as a necessary medication

Without it a slow dissolve

a total obliteration


I’m back again

because

(you guessed it)

I hurt.

And you’re the only one

that’s weaved through all my trauma

Never batted an eye

only absorbed what I gave you

My most religious sponge

I drag you through

every desolate moment

the dirt

the madness

Yet you remain intact

While I’m falling to pieces


If I go missing

It means I’m living

And you’ll hear all about it,

Poetry.

Poor thing.


August 25th, 2022



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