REVELATIONS.

I still find you in the dog-eared pages of poetry books,
in the unpacked boxes that litter my closet
and the corners of my consciousness
I wish I could switch off

you were left as a scar on my stomach
where I clawed so many nights
wishing you were next to me
then wishing you never
had the displeasure
of knowing my name

your shadow taunts my every decision
my every heartache
my every smile
my every rhyme
my every moan
my every accidental dream
and my every sigh of relief
(especially on the coast
where I catch sand between my toes
and think: you would have loved it here)

I'd just become accustomed
to carrying your weight in my chest
and thanking you for teaching me,
and forgiving you for letting me go,
shutting me out
hating me
forgetting me
f-cking her
and writing love poems
(not in that order)

when somehow I tripped into your vestry
and found myself confiding in a glass of wine
with the afternoon sunlight on my shoulder
and sleeves that serve as tissues
alone in my apartment

now you're staring at me,
unblinking,
from a bone white page
filled with our old friends;
love notes and sex jokes
and images painted so vividly
I'd swear they were being
pulled from my tongue
one vowel at a time

and even though I'm struggling to breathe
I can't help but devour your language
(an indulgence, followed by allergic reaction)
in those sad devotions,
the vulnerable exposures,
I lose all sense of truth
and convince myself
it's not black and white

but every syllable echoes our past;
our conversations and constellations
and those ink bled words I keep hidden
in the pink notebook that still smells faintly
of the candy you sent me that summer
when I still believed in you (read:us)

maybe it was always my fault,
that you loved me
as a placeholder for her

but these words that serve as anchors to pull me down
and daggers to avenge or mourn my affection,
are not about me

between large sips of merlot,
I realize...

I never even existed.

(c) Novalyn Grace RR
17 MAY 2014 (4:15PM)