When I’m gone,
Will you miss me?
That little place,
The one I might have rested in,
Curled up into a ball,
Will it feel empty?
Or shall it close up like a dying rose,
Content in its end?
Will you cry?
Just a drop,
A little spill,
Like when you fill the glass too high,
Maybe enough to wet your cheek?
That beauty you hold,
Will it take a break to remember me?
Will there be any hearts for the mending?
A bruise or two from wailing fists?
A tear left by my spirit?
Will you take a day away,
Let the broken heal?
Will there be reassurances,
Promises that I’ll never leave,
And that I’m happy now?
Will you take those
And rip them to shreds,
Then slowly put them back together?
Or will you be fine,
Sitting atop your own little mountain,
Dancing on the plains?
BINABASA MO ANG
Different
PoetryDepression is the most lovely and most horrible friend. You know she'll do all she can to stay, but while she's around you'll always feel different. My second poetry book.
