Loving you
has a sweet scent,
like coming home
to Mama's homemade cooking.
It had the view of an art exhibit,
the delicate stroke of the genius' paintbrush.
Like the sound of the sunshine dancing
flawlessly across the water's edge.
It guided me
to a unknown place,
full of undiscovered feelings
and a satisfying pull in my heartstrings.
Missing you
has a natural feeling,
like I've done it
a million times before.
Like waking up
every morning at 6 and
stumbling to the bathroom to open
my sleepy eyes for a daily presentation to society.
Like letting a thought
turn into a statement
by allowing it to roll
right off my tongue, to those around me.
Forgetting you is
the days when I look into the mirror
and feel absolutely empty,
emotionally gone.
It's the slow process
of deleting your number,
taking deep breaths and temporarily letting
everything go, in my crazed knotted mind.
It's the nights
I stay up, with red, puffy eyes
clutching the empty tissue box,
letting my heart control my mind.
Those tears
small and dreadfully valuable,
fall with grace and bury themselves
deep into my shirt.
They run and hide
within the clothes
that once felt
your warm, irreplaceable embrace.
Sinking deeper
and deeper into
the carefully sewn fabric
of emotion I once supplied.
Waiting to be washed,
cleaned, purified, drowned
by the strong detergent
that washes away the pain.
No matter how tough
the detergent claims to be,
my clothes will always have you
in their memory.
Your ghost will forever
linger on my skin,
haunt my lips,
keep my body on edge.
Because the truth is
you can never erase,
never wash away,
the unbearable pain.
Of loving.
Of missing.
Of longing.
Of forgetting.
But I can always
hide all of it
behind the industrialized promise
of Oxiclean detergent.
Gets the tough stains out...
Right?
YOU ARE READING
Teacups and Pens
PoetryA collection of poetry from my mind. Take from it what you will.
