Abandoned Spaces
Continuing on with the poetry theme from yesterday, I have another to share with y'all. Some of you may already recognize this at least in part, because I technically started it as a private entry in May of 2012 (two months after my mom died), and I later included excerpts of it in my Year in Review. All this time it's remained a work-in-progress though, and it's always bugged me that I never "completed" & posted it in full. So this is me doing that. It didn't take much. This is still largely an exercise in stream-of-consciousness venting more than a polished piece of writing.
Trigger warning: For mild descriptions of self-injury & suicidal ideation.
***
I looked for you last night
in the places you used to live.
In empty rooms
and abandoned spaces.
Down the hall,
behind the door,
and under the bed.
You left your jewelry out,
like you thought you'd be coming back.
I thought maybe
if I sat down and waited,
you would.
But you're still gone.
It's hard to move; it's hard to speak.
I could grind to a halt at any moment.
Do you see these broken parts?
The rusted patches & scars?
That cracking sound you hear is me.
This is what you've left me with--
this paralyzed, pathetic
thing I call a soul.
Don't you care?
If a tree falls in the forest
and no one is there to hear it,
does it still matter?
Sometimes I realize again
that you're gone,
and I feel like I will go crazy.
Like I will tear this world apart.
My whole life with you appears before me
in panoramic vision,
thirty years laid out like dominoes,
and the ending is all wrong.
Yet every moment led up to this,
you say,
and you cannot fight the past.
Watch me.
I will lay myself down beside you
& shout into the dirt.
There's something in me,
you know,
that wants to drag this body down
six feet under.
It stands there with a shovel
and its dirty boot against my face.
It reminds me of the worms
and ashes,
the flames licking your palms.
I always thought I was strong.
My definition has changed,
and I've never done well
with change.
This absence is the sharpest cut of all.
(Are you there?)
I know it's time to say goodbye.
It's been time.
(I'm not ready. Please stay.)
I just didn't expect it to fall apart so quickly.
I had it all planned out.
There's nothing. There's nothing.
I can't feel what's left.
I don't have the words.
You're supposed to be here.
You're supposed to get better.
We're supposed to get better
together.
How can I miss you when I don't even know
who you were?
All I have are these pieces,
this needle and thread.
Razors & lines
and a face in the mirror
that seems so untouchable
and far away.
I don't know what I'm doing,
don't know what I'm saying.
I've stood on this ledge so many times.
I dream of free-falling
and reaching for your embrace,
and I watch the dark pools of red on my skin
from a perch high above.
"Shit or get off the pot,"
I can hear my mother say.
But it's not fair.
I want a break
and a rulebook.
I want to follow the leader.
I want this life to make sense.
I want to know what happens now
to our hard-won happily-ever-after --
all the tomorrows
that could have been.
All the yesterdays we'll never have.
I want to know if happy
can still exist
or if it ever truly did.
Tell me,
please,
is this your legacy?
Fin.
***
Trigger warning: For mild descriptions of self-injury & suicidal ideation.
***
I looked for you last night
in the places you used to live.
In empty rooms
and abandoned spaces.
Down the hall,
behind the door,
and under the bed.
You left your jewelry out,
like you thought you'd be coming back.
I thought maybe
if I sat down and waited,
you would.
But you're still gone.
It's hard to move; it's hard to speak.
I could grind to a halt at any moment.
Do you see these broken parts?
The rusted patches & scars?
That cracking sound you hear is me.
This is what you've left me with--
this paralyzed, pathetic
thing I call a soul.
Don't you care?
If a tree falls in the forest
and no one is there to hear it,
does it still matter?
Sometimes I realize again
that you're gone,
and I feel like I will go crazy.
Like I will tear this world apart.
My whole life with you appears before me
in panoramic vision,
thirty years laid out like dominoes,
and the ending is all wrong.
Yet every moment led up to this,
you say,
and you cannot fight the past.
Watch me.
I will lay myself down beside you
& shout into the dirt.
There's something in me,
you know,
that wants to drag this body down
six feet under.
It stands there with a shovel
and its dirty boot against my face.
It reminds me of the worms
and ashes,
the flames licking your palms.
I always thought I was strong.
My definition has changed,
and I've never done well
with change.
This absence is the sharpest cut of all.
(Are you there?)
I know it's time to say goodbye.
It's been time.
(I'm not ready. Please stay.)
I just didn't expect it to fall apart so quickly.
I had it all planned out.
There's nothing. There's nothing.
I can't feel what's left.
I don't have the words.
You're supposed to be here.
You're supposed to get better.
We're supposed to get better
together.
How can I miss you when I don't even know
who you were?
All I have are these pieces,
this needle and thread.
Razors & lines
and a face in the mirror
that seems so untouchable
and far away.
I don't know what I'm doing,
don't know what I'm saying.
I've stood on this ledge so many times.
I dream of free-falling
and reaching for your embrace,
and I watch the dark pools of red on my skin
from a perch high above.
"Shit or get off the pot,"
I can hear my mother say.
But it's not fair.
I want a break
and a rulebook.
I want to follow the leader.
I want this life to make sense.
I want to know what happens now
to our hard-won happily-ever-after --
all the tomorrows
that could have been.
All the yesterdays we'll never have.
I want to know if happy
can still exist
or if it ever truly did.
Tell me,
please,
is this your legacy?
Fin.
***