Wednesday, April 22, 2009


I get sick when I remember.

My stomach churns the undigested pieces of you, the pieces you forced into my mouth, the jagged slate of your affection. I choked while you smiled. How could you smile? You saw my throat convulse. I bled into the napkin you provided and forced appreciation. "The bad is good for me" you made me say a hundred times like sitting in at recess writing lines. But the bad was bad for me. My poisoned blood was foreign to my veins. I almost died.

But I didn't die. I was saved by mirrors. I saw the person I once knew, the one defined by me. It's not your fault I believed you, believed I was something else . . . for you. It's not your fault I avoided mirrors. I let you own me, but I missed myself. I never should have left me; I should have left you. I should have taken care of myself. I should have loved myself enough to be alone.

But I believed a lie
And I get sick when I remember.


thack said...

I like this. You and Margaret Atwood should be friends. See her poem "Tricks with Mirrors." Your poem reminded me of her poem I read in high school

greysquirrelb said...

I'm so glad you posted this one. May sound crazy, but I love it. It is so visual and descriptive yet not too much. Leaves much room for the imagination. Really love your should publish them!