It was never

painting of a distorted woman face

It was never you —

It was never your arms —
Or the smell of your hands
When driving felt like
drifting through a storm.

It was never your mouth —
When I said I was losing myself
In the sudden famine of your absence.

It was never your skin —
When words drifted away from me
On a quiet black night
And unable to speak I trusted
My screams to some wind of shame.

It was never your voice —
When my legs froze in a winter field, and
Water flooded the basement of my heart.

It was never the mask that I wore —
When I said Please Stay
And the outline of your cheekbones
Suddenly darkened
While I bowed to your divinity.

It was never defeat
When I abandoned a poem
To a breeze of silence
Doubting my muse
My future
My will to fly

It was always you —
When I sunk even further
Reaching out with my hand

To the bottom of the sky.


Photo by Chris Barbalis

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