Poem #244

I get angry with myself every time I write
down a poem because I just see so much
of you in my work. You are in every verse,
in every thought. I don’t know how to
purge you out of my system. The tears
and the screams and the words and
the denial aren’t working anymore.
If this is what love does, I don’t know if
I want to feel it ever again.

20 thoughts on “Poem #244

  1. Very well said! Those are indeed frustrating times πŸ˜” I remember those times when all food had lost its appeal, the joy was sapped from a warm sunny day, and the repugnant reminders to β€œSmile, See the Good, Be the Light” no longer held the allure it once did. Writing definitely helps πŸ˜‰ (as does a walk, a punching bag, a paper mache project, a needle & thread, a song, a movie, a cup of coffee/tea/water, a reminder to: Just Breathe).


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