the knife of letting go

by grasping_hungry_mouth

Summary:

a persona poem for the softest boy

I look at my boots
well-worn my body
travel-weary these hands
hold stories this tongue
is still the words
are in me but they won’t
come out what if
I no longer have words
what if I no longer
have a voice I sit
near fire I watch
the faces of people
they are uninterested
disengaged they don’t
hear me who can
hear me flowers
that smell of rot
the rot in my head
old wound festering
have to dig it out
but my hands can’t reach
my heart what he did
the knife of letting go
no scar just hurt
just breathe he’s gone
he’s gone I’m here
I’m here

I’m here