PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Printed on a t-shirt
a face tears apart
unable to withstand the wear,
overwhelmed with overuse.
I hope my face doesn't tear apart like his
of all the faces in the world
to rip apart and crumble
I'd pick yours.
Yours, because I see it every day
and if I tore it all up
like an old t-shirt
or like the face on this t-shirt
it wouldn't be so beautiful
I wouldn't have to see it.
See you. Remember you.
Miss you. Long for you.
I would rather long for me.
Or even this man who's face I can no longer see
because with or without an image
being in-tact, I will see you.
In an empty cup of coffee,
I see my emptiness, and I see you.
In a darkened black sky or a windblown desert
I see our memories, and I see you.
And despite my wishing that my shirt would mend
and that your face would tear apart in his place
I feel the overwhelming wear of my own life
I feel a pull. And from the other direction.
And before I know it?
I'm torn and disintegrating, just like the poor face on my old t-shirt.