Two-hundred and Seventy-nine: itcouldhavebeenaversary

i like to play around with the letters
of their names, pretending
that the ghosts of their broken hearts
do not haunt me.  they banded
to make a boomerang of his single
i never knew my ribcage was so fucking useless.

we add -aversaries to everything;
to celebrate pain is to give it meaning.
today is a whatifaversary,
an itcoudhavebeenaversay.

then he said what they all say
‘you have proven your strength.
you can do anything.’

i play with my gold rings
-promises to myself-
torn thoughts on a loop.

who am i to overcome
the skinny handwriting of my childhood?

yet, today, i did not burst
like the pinata karma tried to make me.

i almost didn’t cry.
and that’s supposed to mean something.

This is not a poem per se. I do not know what this is. My writing has gone stale. Bear with me until I can bare all again.


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I drink, I laugh, I smoke, I write.

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