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ghost girl Apr 17
31
quietly, another year
added to the tally,
somehow too many
or too few,
depending on the
company.

a passive reminder
of every absence,
for better or worse,
all the things i never
became, all the things
i've never done,
the lone day a year
i hear from my father,
a three word message
no more
no less.

another year,
any other day. just once,
it'd be okay to hear
"neutral day of birth.
hope it's
fine."
ghost girl Apr 9
hello,
i hope your evening
is filled with
stubbed toes
burnt supper
spilled milk.

in the morning, i hope
you forget your office keys
your coffee until it's gone cold
your lunch
your password.

i hope this email
finds you well!
ghost girl Apr 8
once in awhile,
i wish there was
someone else to
do the dishes,
make the coffee

but living alone,
truly being alone,
is one of the most
peaceful, luxurious
experiences

of my life,
and i'd take every
***** dish, every
empty coffee cup -

my true regret
is not learning this
particular lesson
a little sooner
ghost girl Apr 1
i write about you all the time,
but i almost never keep it,
torn up or deleted,
or saved in some file to be
lost to the abyss of fracture
and finality, where i keep
all my other thoughts
of you.
ghost girl Mar 27
you didn't tell me
about your fifth dui
but i found out anyway

you didn't tell me
you hid your feed from me,
or mine from you
but i found out anyway

you didn't tell me
when you married
that awful woman
but i found out anyway

you did tell me
i'd have a bedroom
a second family
a place, always

had a knack for
hiding the truth
telling the lie
the false promise

you've fought hard
to be nothing
and no one to me

hope you relish
your victory
ghost girl Mar 17
i spent much of my
early twenties
convinced
my existence could be
pathologized,
explained neatly
by an icd-10 code,
convinced i was
maybe bipolar
maybe borderline
maybe something
anything
because a diagnosis meant
answers
a plan
relief...

the years since
softened my mind,
changed me,
healed me,
revealed the corrosive
nature of pain,
how i held onto it
for years and years
because it was
all i had left.

i put it down,
i said my goodbyes.
i don't google
diagnoses
anymore.
ghost girl Feb 20
it was a saturday, slow,
an early dark
dripping in my boots
i was a fool
to believe this
might simply end
with a whimper
when endings, for me,
are typically punctuated  
with a bang
a forest fire
a collapsed galaxy

i remember the
ripples of time
spreading out from
my fingertips
and i thought i might die
and it was terrifying
and then it was

silence
peace
a pool of
luxurious
nothingness

and then i was awake
left to wonder how survival
could feel like
such a punishment
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