these things i remember, the memories that started as seeds and grew like oaks, they overwhelm me until all i’m able to do is shout
i remember just looking at you and the words, “how are you so beautiful?” accidentally slipped out.
i remember how you told me that it could work that, “if there’s a will, there’s a way.”
i guess one half of that will faded and i am left all alone with only small reminders leading up to that day.
i delicately place them like pins to a map in my brain
losing sleep, losing time, trying to reverse the inevitable decay.
maybe it hurts so bad because i think that i was worth more than the time you gave me
for once i think that i deserved more than what you made me out to be.
and i should have known from the start,
but i never really understood why you always had a slouch to your walk until i got a glimpse inside your heart.
within it contained many other hearts, now dead and cold.
among them i saw a single one, still pink, still warm, still believing it had someone to hold.
i find that floating is now effortless and i often fear that the slightest gust of wind will send me drifting to unheard places.
body after body, all but yours appear to be faceless.
a heart’s a heavy burden but i’m tired of feeling homesick for what has been stolen.
so i am begging you, let’s put an end to this era, for what we had was never truly golden.
dear ghost of what never was, it’s time to haunt someone else.
give back what was once mine,
so i can stop using every ounce of energy i have to create makeshift love not worthy of others’ time.
you know, maybe what you did to me was for the best, because i know now that my love is as valuable as gold. it takes every fiber of my being to create and produce,
once it’s soaked up by another human, it takes a long time for me to get back and prepared for another use
even long after you named me a ghost, all i see is you,
and i am aware it’s getting old, these threads of Memories and these quilts of Past i sew,
but i can’t stop writing all these shitty poems about it because this is the only coping method i know
just letting it all sink in and burn holes in my brain until there is nothing left of you but ash and dust
and i am now realizing that what i thought was dried blood is merely rust;
this is lingering. this is dwelling.
let me put it simple, just for you: what looked like sidewalk fading away was actually my backbone returning
i was never alice and you were never wonderland and THIS, is what separates you from i, never once will i have a slouch when i stand.
— Avery Walter Vernon