Little Demons

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

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