an ode to being ghosted.
isn't it lovely?
I remember playing him “Be Kind” by Annahstasia at the beginning of our relationship. The song that had ripped my chest open so many times over. He was not kind. The anatomy of the ghost is that it is still material, in the lack of space it takes up. A ghost sits — making space damp. It wants to be seen without being beheld, noticed without being witnessed. I have lived enough life to know that I cannot control anyone else — nor do I desire to. I am too old to ask if “I did anything wrong” and too busy to wallow. Yet, what I do take with me is my words — the small meditations that rumble in my belly and find place on the page.
I gave myself 21 days to move on. It takes 21 days to break a habit. Break the habit I did.
Poem 1
who taught me to clasp my own shackles my legs heavy with regret free thine self see your self in the face of the child the widow the one without a home the hungry the thirsty all shrouded in divinity.
Poem 2
scary spice and her daughters dancing in the sky (boom clap, boom clap) their feet producing bolts of lightening their laughs casting a (boom clap, clap boom) vision of colours fully embracing the sun (chika chika chika) feeling the sizzle.
Poem 3
damn it. i want to be loved loved! loved! loved! damn it. don’t make me beg for love! love! love! damn it. giving it up to leave room for —
Poem 4
how ghastly it is to be my lover it will drag you through the mud show you a bad time denounce any warmth. a difficult woman, how unseemly to love to hold a monster woman, how grotesque to embrace to make room how inconvenient to be my lover perhaps silence is the softest touch.
Poem 5
i’m drunk but I don’t think of you. i think of people i like or might even love when my eyes turn hazy my mind falls into fog. i think of myself. falling tumbling disgustingly enraptured staring upon the celestial palace that is i.
In Love,
G.