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krysta, metaphor player

here are my words


I wish I knew history enough to use it
as a metaphor, and it’s like the night
I had to say sorry because I couldn’t
really kiss you. Even now what I remember
is the feeling of old heartbreak settling
into new wounds as the night tapped
on my window.

Today I thought about leaving my apartment
but it rained. Then it stopped. Then it rained.
And I cried twice to two different songs.
It wasn’t about the songs anymore. Do you
get what I’m saying? Why I couldn’t leave?

I don’t think there’s anything outside
these walls. When I think about the rain,
I remember only the word rain.

I write two kinds of poems:
ones from within,
when I give myself to the world,
yearning;
and ones from without,
when the world gives itself to me
as I merely watch.

Funny how when I remember only myself
it is the only thing I cannot feel.

But looking up at the sky, I feel it tip
towards me,

cosmos spilling into a mouth
that has forgotten the word mouth.

Now I know that I want to be everything
so that your name
cannot break me.

3:47 am  53 notes

s.t.