Author Information
Talking to myself
Talking to myself
When he died, I didn’t cry.
Regret the way I said goodbye,
Silenced my sorrow,
It’s not that I didn’t care. I did.
But sometimes once the pain has been dragged on,
An ending is a sweet bliss.
Sick? I wish I was.
Then I’d have a reason. An excuse.
That what you used to say,
My reluctance to happiness,
Stemmed from my selfish withdrawal.
Death is not something that’s always a blessing.
No. Although, I’ve tried to escape to its embrace.
Maybe once. Or a few times.
But you wouldn’t care.
And I don’t have the heart to tell you. Why would I bother,
You broke it in the first place.
To break the heart of a broken girl.
Beautifully broken.
Always reserved.
Ha. Oh no. She’s not really smiling.
Didn’t tell you that’s endurance.
In time, do you grow to know someone,
Or does your ignorance become bliss,
You don’t know me,
No one knows anyone.
Our sweet love,
That possession.
My blood boils,
My cuts bleed,
But I cannot cry.
His death paving every step i take,
The pain mirrored in my image,
But the veil covers me well.
With him, I remain lovely broken.
With you, I remain broken in love.
With you, I regret the way I said goodbye.
We all respond to death
We all respond to death differently. Due to circumstances, I was unable to mourn my mother's death in a healthy manner. As a result, I am usually the biggest baby at funerals which is why I try to avoid them, and yet, I held a little grudge against one of my sisters when my father died for leaving me a message on my answering machine that he had passed...todya I understand things bettr having lost way too many now, I cannot count. This is an awesome poem about one of the ways death can bring new life in some of the strangest ways. "my blood boils"...as if something 'newer epiphany' is 'coming alive' Love it!!! ~peace~
........................
...and he asked her, "do you write poetry? Because I feel as if I am the ink that flows from your quill."
"No", she replied, "but I have experienced it. "