I wait for you.
Like I think I’m supposed to.
You dropped me off one day,
and now it’s way past curfew.
Days pass, weeks, and eventually months too.
I sit like I’m in a church pew.
Who is coming for my rescue?
Am I still on your menu?
If you’ve crossed the ocean,
I can make it by canoe.
I wait for you.
Like I thought I was supposed to.
You were never coming back, were you?
–S.
In a field of sunflowers,
I let you go.
In a field of sunflowers,
I let the hurt flow.
In a field of sunflowers,
I grieve and I grow.
In a field of sunflowers,
I begin to glow.
In a field of sunflowers,
I let you go.
–S.
You were supposed to love me the most,
but instead you gave me daily improvement notes.
You were supposed to love me endlessy,
but all you did was judge me.
You were supposed to love me unconditionally,
but all you did was alienate me.
You were supposed to love me fully,
but all you did was make me hate me.
–S.
Should I wear a heel,
or go for a suede feel?
Should I wear something leather,
pleather,
or scrap that idea altogether?
Should I tie up my laces,
will it get me faster to places?
Should I pick something with spikes,
or a pair meant for hikes?
Should I throw on some combat boots,
or stick to my roots?
Whatever I decide,
it can’t make me sway,
I don’t know what shoes to wear to walk away.
–S.
The world is trying to teach me how to let go.
I fall asleep in class,
or I barely even go.
Fall is trying to show me how to shed and how to grow.
I don’t care,
and I simply don’t want to know.
I don’t want to leave,
but nothing burns up slow.
–S.
Fall is calling.
Leaves are falling.
I’m rooted in place.
Fall is calling.
Leaves are falling.
There are things I still can’t face.
Fall is calling.
Leaves are falling.
I don’t let go.
I wait.
–S.
We’re almost a ghost town.
There’s a chair on the side of the main road,
and glass shattered all over the ground.
The post office is boarded up,
and there’s nobody around.
There’s graffiti on the elementary school,
I wish you’d at least been cruel.
But we faded out like high-school football stars, neon-lit bars, and lightning bugs.
The love decayed over time like teeth do with drugs.
–S.
I’m mad that you’re right.
I’m mad that I’m wrong.
I’m mad that I’m sad.
I’m mad that you ruined my favorite song.
I’m mad that it’s all taking so long.
I’m mad that I zigged when I should’ve zagged.
I’m mad that I bobbed when I should’ve weaved.
I’m mad that I still believe.
I’m mad at her,
and at him,
and the moles all over my skin.
I’m mad at mother nature,
and father time.
I’m mad that none of it is mine.
–S.
I don’t say I love you because I don’t.
I don’t say I’ll miss you because I won’t.
I say I’ll see you around because I probably will,
but I don’t want you thinking that time is standing still.Â
-S.
Ask for butter on the popcorn.
Choose the middle seats.
Grab your favorite candy.
They’re playing the movie of you and me,
and who we used to be.
When they roll the credits,
I will finally see:
we’re through the thick of it,
past the messy middle,
and at the very end of we.
We’ll throw out the trash.
We’ll say our goodbyes.
We’ll get into separate cars.
Wave one last time as we drive by.
-S.
The Messy Middle 🖤 