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The poet makes his gun out of any old thing:
sticks of words,  bird song, the swish of trees,
the pitter patter of the growing city around him,

The poet’s gun is never just a gun.
His poems are never just words.

Today, the poet’s gun is a rose—
thorns of wounding,  
warnings to admire its scent and beauty
from a respectful distance.

He fired it in the air knowing
that a gun that is a gun
is a little brook of death,
but since his gun was a rose,
it was dangerous and beautiful.

His verse exploded
blooming petals
shedding its crimson
like dew on the water.

It felt like rain.
It felt like pulsing veins.  
It felt like life being knocked over.
It felt like love bursting through.

The gun was a rose
and the gun was not death.
Out of anything he made it.
Tomorrow, it would be water.
Some people eat dreams

for
breakfast

and
lunch

and
dinner

and it's not even because
they can't afford food
When that specific person calls your name
and you hope it’s not actually you
That’s what wanting to forget feels like.

When they hand you pictures
taken in a different dimension
That’s what wanting to forget feels like.

When they randomly message you
over some stupid **** you said
That’s what wanting to forget feels like.

When you burn every note
that they ever wrote you
That’s what wanting to forget feels like.

When you tear down every picture
you two ever took together
That’s what wanting to forget feels like.

When you delete all of the posts
on snapchat, instagram, facebook
That’s what wanting to forget feels like.

When you unfollow them
on snapchat, instagram, facebook
That’s what wanting to forget feels like.

When you hate yourself
for still drinking and eating their favorite things
That’s what wanting to forget feels like.

When even though you’ve gone through all this trouble
they still somehow find themselves into your head,
then your conversations,
then your poetry,
That’s what wanting to
(but not being able to)
forget feels like.
I want one of those mind erasing things from Men in Black or even the one from the Incredibles i don't really care which but I just want one plz and thanks
 Sep 2018 Steph Wams
k
Where do you write something you want someone to read
but you don't want them to see?
Almost a year ago, I did some pretty messed up things
and no, it was not grown up of me
and yes, I still feel guilty (at least a part of me does)
and no, I still don't think I "needed" to
However, to think you have done nothing wrong
is an outright lie

Is belittling someone a sign of love?
Is masking someone's voice a sign of affection?
Is closing the doors on things I was not ready to leave behind
a sign of your attention?

And no, that wasn't the end of it
And yes, I'd rather let you read between the lines
because even writing this in memory of things
that once were,
is giving you way too much of my time

Nonetheless, I do not hate you as much as I thought I had
I just have one question,
where do you believe it went wrong?

Could it have been the numerous times I warned you
that something is bound to go awry?
Maybe it was hidden between all the times
you were busy tweeting about how awful I was
while I begged for forgiveness from a problem
I did not create

I can only request one final thing,
take a moment for yourself to replay the words
that we once spoke to each other in your head
Analyze the seconds we spent together

Remember all the wasted parts of my life spent on
trying to earn your approval while you
continue to let everyone know
just how awful I was to you

I dare you, after all of this is done, to come back and
accuse me of being
"emotionally unavailable"

Fortunately for me, however,
I've come to terms with things that once kept me sinking
and I've found the things that keep me afloat

So for now, I bid this chapter of our lives
a soft, sincere and sweet goodbye

(P.S. You may have once had me
wrapped around your fingers, but if
I learned anything from you at all,
it's that I will always be stronger than
what I think I can't handle)

— The End —