and i tumble into myself.
oh, how i’ve cried.
how august crawled
into me and tore me apart;
how the stars put me back together.
i sit alone these days,
twirl red hair around my fingers
and write.
there is more
love in my heart than has ever
been.
all the love in the world
is mine -
how hadn’t i realised?
seams of gold
renewed for new
cracks
and
shining from within.
my skin is better
and my hair is healthier
and my body
ticks like a clock and knows
exactly what to do.
i wake up every night at 1 or 2
am and move around slightly in my bed.
i think i’m aware
that
i’m awake
-
but i am more blissful than away.
blissful;
staining my pillow
red and
just happy.
it’s
so ironic,
almost like a joke,
how i was always right.
how i always come home to my girl,
talk to her before
i sleep,
when i wake up.
i know how she stands when she brushes
her teeth,
i know which hip she leans
on when she’s tired,
i know every
story
about her hair.
and i love it.
i am the mundanity i crave;
i could not be a lover
i could not be a girl
i could not be a star
i could not be
what others wanted,
so i became a poet.
at the end of it all,
that’s all i ever have been.
all i ever will be.
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