I wanted to start this poem off as a letter, to address the emotions that enraged me a week or so ago
But these feelings aren’t even a sibling to anger let alone a friend,
So how wrong it would be for me to paint a picture of deceit.
I even had the desire to use all the fancy words I could think of because your intellect is beyond scope,
Yet it still doesn’t feel right enough to say what it is I am engulfed by.
You sat there, and my heart knew it was breaking before words could even be formulated in your head,
It crumbled into piece of rain drops stalking you on your window wondering for a moment if the thought of me will ever pass you by,
Just a fragment of a second to immerse yourself in without anger or bitterness.
Because I could taste the rage in the air, it was cold yet not cold enough to make the bank holiday heat subdue.
It was sharp, like the blade used to carve the frame of my star, it was distant like now.
It was far.
And I’m trying to understand the science behind it all,
How two humans could lay on top of each other, flesh to flesh, breath to breath, heart beating in sync for it to sound like we’ve attached it to speakers to give it volume,
Yet as close as we were physically on that bench, you felt gone; dead?
No I’m wrong, I felt gone&dead.
Like ash being poured in the sea and asked to find home again; I was both liquid and solid waiting to be touched by purity,
Though your hands were so tainted and so beautiful it could no longer reach me,
For you had stretched so much you couldn’t find yourself – a reflection in my eyes.
A you you desperately clutched to like a child does a mother.
And like any letter,
There should be an ending except I feel Goodbye would be the wrong way to say this,
Rather a Thank You,
For being a friend when no one else wanted to.
For loving me even though I didn’t know what it was,
For wanting me when I was just learning to want myself.