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.
Notice about Plagiarism
Plagiarizing these words is encouraged. Plagiarizing this face--impossible.
About Me
- joseph
- If I was anyone but me, you'd never be the wiser. To those who would: I salute you. You know me better than I do. But I have never believed you.
2 comments:
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
http://www.geocities.com/Athens/Oracle/4284/atwood4.html
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 writing...you should publish them!
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