Forgetfulness

I want to remember her
    forever
    and ever
    and ever.

But the truth is
we all
  move on
  forget to remember.

We cry now
miss her deeply
wish she was still here
hope it's all a dream.

But we thought the same things about
other people
  family, friends
  loved ones.

And it's okay to not remember
forgetting is cruel, maybe
but not remembering isn't
it's how things are.



So future me
Here's a small note for you


Remember
If you suddenly realize
You've momentarily forgotten
Don't be afraid
Don't feel ashamed
You have nothing to feel
Guilty about
Forgetting
  Doesn't mean you didn't care
Forgetting
  Doesn't mean you didn't love
You did
You do
And never forget that.

Wonderful

I stand in front of you

Trying out a new dress

Ask if I look good in it

You nod and say,

"It looks wonderful"

But why did you think

I wouldn't notice the

Quick look of dread

That shone in your eyes

Twisted your facial expressions

Right before you smiled

And gave your approval of my

Choice of outfit?

Powder blue with a trace of yellow

The clouds are purple
  Like the dress I wore that day
  Ink of the pen you used to sign the receipt
  The flecks of paint you tried to remove from my fingers
  That one wall of your room that's not covered in posters

The sky is powder blue with a trace of yellow
  Like the shirt you insisted on wearing that day
  The shirt that, I later found out, was a gift from her
  The shirt she got you, because that was her favorite color
  The shirt that assured me that I was being replaced

Blind spot

You asked me why I
Friendzoned you.
Didn't I have any shame
To lead you on
Play with your feelings?
You were so hurt
Crushed that I hadn't
Seen you as
'More than a friend.'
And it is,
Quite honestly,
Only then that I noticed you
Realized all your efforts,
How desperately you tried
Clinging on like a leech
Lurking in the background
Always present
Always watching.

Imagine this...

My book. You.

There was a book
I kept reading
Over a long period
Of time
I would read a
Page or two
Then bored, or tired
Put it back on the shelf
I would let it gather dust
Forget most of the details
And then, out of the blue
Want to read the book again

And I treated you
Like this book
I forgot
You had feelings
And you were hurt
Each time
I drew you close
Only to push you away

Dancers

You cannot deny being aware

Of her growing love for you

She makes it all so obvious

And you remain oblivious

Don't you see her looking your way

Waiting for a moment of eye contact?

Don't you read the poems she writes

So clearly written for you?

She's ignoring the world's laughter

As they ridicule her vain attempts

And you keep ignoring her

Avoiding the in-your-face

Attraction turned loved turned obsession

In a room of a thousand

She's dancing for you

But you are looking some other way

And I can't watch anymore

As you two play this ridiculous game.

 

Your sunflower

I don't blame her

Or hate her

The least bit

For by the time

She replaced me

In your life

You were already

Walking away

From me

And you may be

Branded 'cheater'

But I forgive you

I understand

She was a vibrant

Sunflower in the summertime

And I was a quiet daisy

On a cold, gloomy day

Broken

I can write about love
  Love-stories, love-poems
I can pretend there is a
 Warm hand in mine
 Soft lips on mine
Some one to join lives with me
But who are we kidding?
My life is unshared
My lips are untouched
And I am alone

This realization
It suddenly hits me
Without warning
When I least expect it
And it feels like a
Hammer on my glass heart
A fire next to my frozen thoughts
And I,
 I'm broken
    I realize
       I'm broken with no
       King's men to fix me

It's complicated.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"You know you can tell me anything..."

"Yes."

"So talk to me."

"It's complicated."

"Okay. Suit yourself."

It's complicated
It always is
But in truth, it isn't
The truth is simple
So simple
Too simple.


Then why do I
dismiss pressing problems as
too-complicated-to-talk-about?


Because it isn't complicated,
so when I tell a person
whatever is bothering me,
they would go on and on and on about
how they know exactly how I'm feeling.

They've been through it all too.
And they survived.
They swam back to the surface,
filled their bursting lungs
with fresh air.
They lived to tell the tale.

And I don't need to hear that.

When you are sinking, the thought of the world outside doesn't give you enough hope to struggle against the force that has you enveloped.

It is help reaching out to you that pulls you up.

When you talk about how life gets better, I see no reason to push through my problems, despite how trivial they are.

When you tell me how you swam to the shore, all I want to do is push you in to an ocean and hope the currents take you away.

So I go with the easy answer of  'it's complicated.'

It's complicated because you are too self-centered to listen, for just a second.

It's complicated because you would never care enough to know me.

It's complicated because the world is too simple.

Too fragile.

It's complicated.

This is why I write.

Because this page will never tell me,

"Oh! I know what you are going through.

I went through a similar thing last year..."

You could have my words. You really could. But you won't.


You won't because you don't care.


Not about me, anyway.