FROM THE COLLECTION: And we call that love?
How does it feel,
Reading my poetry,
And finding yourself
In crevices of my heart?
How does it feel,
Observing my healing process,
And knowing you’re becoming
A scab soon to fall off?
How does it feel,
Watching me from a distance,
Fall and rise, fade and bloom,
In the world existing “after you”?
How does it feel,
Becoming someone that
I used to love
Somewhere in the past tense?
