Grief is born in the monotony.
It reminds you of its presence every time you
Look at a light switch or
the fridge door
or the grout between
the cold tiles
because these things
were the first to
witness your storm
your hurricane
The tears
That burned the inner
Areas
Of your thighs
Before leaving small
Pools on the
Condo floor
No.
That doorknob will
Never be just a
Doorknob
Again.
You see,
It was the last thing I
Touched
Before I stumbled
Into my
Room and pried
Myself from the floor that
Held me.
It was then I realized
8 years was just 8 years,
And those beautiful
Moments were ones you wouldn’t
Miss.
It was all I could do
To soak my grief
In the threads of
The sheets
To weave a tapestry
Of my sorrow on
My twin bed.
Not one that I owned
Just one that I borrowed
And for so long
After
I apologized
For staining the frame with
My anguish
For burying my memories
In its springs
And my doubts
In its hinges
That’s where I left
Everything
On the 1sr of August.
All those
aches that gnawed
at my bones
and thrashed skin
and stripped my eyes
Dry
till they pulsed bloodshot
Orbs in my head
Pivoting, pivoting
Till they
Closed
Exhausted and weary
From struggle
oh honey bird,
At times like these
Remember,
The monotony has
Made you.
You are a polished
Stone
Smoothed by
Turbulence.