scraps.

You shed things that remind you of her,
but you gave her your very being.
Does this mean you are no longer
the you I knew?

Walking away from what once were
detaching yourself from those pieces.
Don't you miss the Before times:
before her?

I'm picking up pieces of you
that you left behind.
Who is that fragment of a boy
that I once known?

I'm collecting pieces of you
in hopes of rebuilding what was once there.
Taping these scraps one by one;
fitting them like puzzle pieces.

I'm preserving pieces of you
because with each day you're fading,
discoloring, crumbling with age.
Is there any way for me to keep the past the same?

I'm throwing away pieces of you


Am I the one who changed?

-i found a profile on social media that i never knew you had from three years ago. i never knew that i lost you until i realized how much you have changed. that version of you has lived in my memories since then. i miss you

this art i know.

(february 2017)

i think i have been taught to feel this way

because i see the way my mother clutches your picture

and i see how my grandmother detaches from the world when she thinks of you 

i have learned from the absolute best

i think i know why my knuckles are white

because i can feel you slipping

out of my hands 

down to the ground

where you will run to whoever is near

i think i will crumble 

i wanted to fill the holes in you and

i cannot function without the parts that you took:

the metronome that keeps the beat of my heart in time

and the gears that make everything work

i think i saw your smile today

and it wasnt for me.

its so silly to think that the absence of your smile

is making my world seem dimmer

this art that i have learned-

the art of never letting go

is somehow a cherished skill. 

they dont want you to move on

even if it is to better things.

tethers.

 (October 2015)

I want to take out my scissors

so, I can finally cut my ties with you.

It seems that they're indestructible

but, I know it will only take a minute or two.

I wish I could find my scissors

so, I won't have to feel that tug.

You're beginning to pull too hard;

the strings are snug.

I simply cannot find my scissors

so, I start to use my bare hands.

The heat of it all is burning me

and I can see you as I stand.

You're plucking me like a flower

continuously yanking on my stem.

I found my scissors

they were exactly where I left them.