You let go of the things in your memory
One strand at a time
Lilting, bending over, simultaneously awe-struck and diffident
I am neither here nor there
Despite the routine of the phrase
And waiting for a passenger to greet me as a fellow
In a journey I never set out on
Is like lighting fire on the stove without matches
Or watching the sun set in the middle of the day
I am no stranger to darkness–
No matter how much I hate that darkness has a negative connotation–
I must use my phrases, as belittling as it sounds
I am belittled
I am the punching bag
I hate it
You don’t have to follow me like you do
I know you’re there
You’re always there
But ghosts find a way
And it’s not a good sign to know one
Demons, whatever, same-same
I’m just a little flower
Drying out
Sucking it up
Kissing dirt
