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CMXIClement May 2020
I stared at you,
a cold empty face.
You didn't have much time for me,
and nothing much to say.

You never really touched me,
and if you did you made it hurt.
With spite you said I remind you of him,
I felt to blame, but wasn't sure.

Was it my fault when you left?
Because you never said goodbye.
Yet you took the others with you,
and the soul of a small boy died.

Strangely as I grew older,
you relied on me the most.
I kept trying to earn your love,
to bleed affection from a ghost.

With my early twenties scattered,
I couldn't pinpoint how I felt.
I was broken and alone,
while juggling shards of shattered self.

As time progressed I began to heal,
and put myself in a better place.
I understand too much to hate you,
But I don't have much to say.

I know the pain you went through,
that you were damaged from the start.
A lonely child you were too,
with missing pieces of your heart.

I couldn't bring myself to do to you,
the things you did to me.
To perpetuate that awful cycle,
so forgiveness set me free.

Forgiveness is a habit,
not a singular event.
Sometimes past words and actions
muster up my soul's lament.

But through it all you're still my heart,
and that's not an easy pill to swallow.
But I won't live life filled with resentment,
we're not guaranteed tomorrow.

I remember the night we danced
to Such Great Heights by Iron and Wine.
I wanted you to know that I could love you through it all.
I will give more than I was given, dearest mom of mine.
CMXIClement May 2020
We stole away
                    (The air cool, and lively),
                        
           Strolling down a side street at a calm, and quiet pace.

          The ambient noise of several a raised voice echoed
                             faintly through pulses of bass.
                                                           ­                                     
                                                               In that moment,
                             A world removed...

              (Something came over me) With impulse, revelry;  
        
           (Grabbing her hand) -- "May I have this dance?"--and then  
                              we swam in waves of 'Frenesi'.

                                                     ­  Nervously laughing,
                   you, always self-conscious

                         It was one of things I so loved about you
              
                 I wanted us to breathe the air of life lived carefree,
                              And to bask in adventures anew.

Laughing, twirling
On a moonlit night

Time stood still, as we swayed like waves in the ocean

The world was ours, near those downtown bars as
we painted the sidewalk with motion.

But life moves on
And time moves forward..

Silence replaced laughter, joy with indifference

And with a colossal divide, a crack at a time
her face grew blurred from the distance.

                                                      ­  And then one day
                                A vague silhouette.

          The lover I knew was gone, though once she was close..

        Those fiery chocolate eyes were now veneered with  
                       icy guise..there was no more repose.

                                                        ­    Old memories,
                          Nostalgic thoughts.

                    It seemed a losing battle, the battle we fought;

               So, raise a toast, I say:  à la fille que je connaissais,
                                  j'espère que tu trouver de la joie.
If you've never heard Frenesi by Artie Shaw, I highly encourage you to.  Fantastic song if it's your style.
CMXIClement May 2020
I am a piece of paper.

I have been cut down, and put through a mill.

I have been tossed by the winds, yet tethered to every word written upon me.

Words written in black ink, spelling in all capitals that I'm useless, and unlovable.  That I am in the way, and that when I am out of the way I am forgotten.

Words written in blood, saying that I have no reason to go on. I will never be accepted; that I am not enough.  

Words written in invisible ink saying that I will never be seen.

My paragraphs are blotted out, crossed through and rearranged by careless editors.

My crisp texture, and white color gives way to muddy boot prints.

I am rife with tears and crinkles at the hands of careless of writers.

I have been cut down, and put through a mill.

The truth is though...

I am a piece of paper.

I have many uses.

I can be your origami, a love note, or an airplane.

I can be an interesting article, or a beautiful story.

There, among the chicken-scratch and scar tissue, I have room to write my own words.

With caret marks I correct every word I
ever let define me.

My story isn't written on me.  The changes made to the words written on me are my story.

One thing this piece of paper has learned, is that you should never give people the power to write in
permanent maker what should only be written in pencil.

And you cannot control the whipping wind you whirl in, but you can be a page worth a second look.

We are all worth a revision.

— The End —