a poem by Heaven Collins
I shouldn’t miss you
and here I am
my shoes drawing attention to me
with their click clack nature
while you sit in that emerald throne
and I’m just trying to pick up a letter, hopeful
that it’s my newest publication.
if it was, I would sit right there
and open it with glee. I would show you
how much happier I am now—
what you are missing
but in reality,
you probably aren’t missing much. I am
still me, me with
all those streams of tears that lead
to rivers that lead to oceans.
me with the passive aggressive anger,
the type that bubbles over more than
a bubble bubble toil and trouble witches brew.
sometimes I think you were all a dream,
that I made you up,
that I was in a major bout of psychosis for
all of April. for all of summer as I missed you. that
maybe I drunk imagined your friend request
and your messages at 4 A.M. on fourth of July.
but you aren’t fake. we weren’t fake, and
that’s what scares me because you will
put on sunglasses, dye your hair pink,
deepen your voice, and do
everything to disguise yourself but
I know you because I loved you.
and you do all of that, because
you loved me, but, men and women
experience it all differently.
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