The Spaces Where You Aren’t

Chimera Poetry

I knew you would leave.
I wish it could have been when I hated you.
I wish I could go back in time and break my phone
before your first call,
before I learned the texture of your name,
 and how to call it like music,
like lighting a lamp.
I knew you  would leave and my insides knew you would leave,
 but my skin held them all tight inside and wouldn’t let them speak,
while my mouth practiced smiles like tying shoes,
all knots and sloppy loops.
And if I tried too hard for too long
what else could I do?
The devil doesn’t promise to break your heart,
he just shows you a list and every name on it is yours
and that must mean you matter…..
right?
I knew you would leave and the air tastes different
now that I’m not sharing it,
and the sounds you…

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About chimerapoet

I write. I write a lot. A. LOT. There are times I am half blind with a sentence ricocheting off the walls of my stupid, cant be shut off to save my life, brain. I am miserable until I get it down on paper. Punch it up a bit. Usually cross out half of it. And then breathe. Relax. Only to do it all again..... But I just thought that was me. How I am. Not a writer....noooo...not me. Writers are.....writing people. People Who Write. REALLY write. Write things that matter. All grown up very important things. Not.....me. I am just a scribbler of sorts. And I was/am content with that....if it's true, well then....a scribbler am I. Until the thought wormed its way in to my brain (the furtive sneaky bitch) that maybe...just maybe...that is writing. My style. My strange way. But....still writing. So here I am at the dance. Not sure I know any of the moves and the music is entirely mine. But.....only one way to find out. Would you care to join me?
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