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.

27 thoughts on “Poem #244

  1. Very well said! Those are indeed frustrating times ๐Ÿ˜” 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 โ€œSmile, See the Good, Be the Lightโ€ no longer held the allure it once did. Writing definitely helps ๐Ÿ˜‰ (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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  2. Inspired by this amazing poem, here is my shameless knock-off, plagiarist empathic copy. Isnโ€™t that what poetry is supposed to do? Move you? I seriously didnโ€™t mean to plagiarize so if I did, I apologize and will remove it.
    I get angry with myself every time I listen to music because you are in every song I have on my playlist.
    You donโ€™t even know it and even if you did, you would roll your eyes and say STIIL? After all these years? Yes.
    And I hate myself for that. Because you could show up unannounced at my door and I would still let you in.

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