I’ve been using my personal way-way-back machine (aka: my journals) to do some time travel recently. There’s so much unfinished business back there in those four years of high school, but especially in the gap of my life that I refer to as senior year. The year I made some life changing decisions that set me on a crash course in survival that I almost failed in an epic crash and burn.
I feel like this project is going to be very therapeutic for me. So let’s start at the beginning. This first piece is an introduction to the reintroduction of the worst possible thing to ever happen to me ever. Her name is Heather, and so is this poem.
Also, no names are falsified because I’m embracing my new year’s mantra of “less fucks and more tambourine,” and therefore I have unleashed the rage. Let’s call this one of the first stages of my growing through grieving process.
The first time I died,
I read her name in a note,
a note you passed me with a smile
and I thought, “oh, this will be good,”
Our clocks had collided
I finally ticked when you tocked
then she exploded,
a time bomb hidden in the spaces
between her name.
I knew her name.
She’d been hidden in my nightmares
where I’d left her before
you. Before you shed light
into the darkness from whence
I had crawled. Away from being broken,
away from a friendship festered.
You, my angel and my shoulder,
brought her, the devil on yours,
and she took my place there.
between the crook of your neck
and the wrap of your arm.
She grew on you; your rose
the thorn in my side,
until you became a stranger,
a cold shoulder to brush past in the halls
as I shrank against the wall
wishing to be one with the brick –
hardened. Built to withstand the storm
You didn’t care that she could be.
Like a personal curse, I carried her
like cancer – a virus in my veins.
As she ate you away, I felt you decay
My fair ginger lover in disarray.
Her spite and my pride,
too much to swallow,
I could follow you anywhere but