locked outMature

I've been locked out of my old life.

I left the door open a little,

like in the Chronicles of Narnia when Lucy

passes through the closet but leaves the door

unhinged a crack,

so she can see the light and find her way back.

But after I was gone, you came

and slammed the opening shut,

barred it up and threw away the keys, 

as an attempt to purge your soul of me

you buried my body in the ground,

and left flowers at my tombstone,

wiped your hands clean of the dirt,

and walked home alone.

I'm here now to tell you 

that the only thing you did

when you cut me out of the picture

was lose

our love.

Those sparkly still frames of happy moments

you burned and smashed them all,

and I wanted to tell you through the tear stains

that yes, I know it hurts now but give it time

and this rain will stop.

I know my face is something you long to erase without a trace,

but I'm not ashamed to admit that a kiss was more than a kiss

and when your lips touched mine

you imprinted yourself in my mind.

And I wish I could tell you

it's okay.  

You're allowed to miss me and hate me and love me

but please, open the door,

if only a sliver so I can peak through.

Not a day goes by when I don't think of you,

and don't think it's because I'm obsessively psychotically in love with you;

I have become too jaded to be a romantic fool,

but yet, we shared a bed, a hope, a dream

and that doesn't disappear for me.

I wonder if you ever wonder about me,

would you'd be shocked if you saw me now,

holes in my ears, art inked upon my back,

and would I be surprised to see you,

or have you remained true 

to the boy 

I knew 

as you?

Have you grown up, or are you still singing forever young,

and do you still believe in a thing called love?

Because the truth is 

I'm not trying to come back as a form of attack

I'm not a raging ex-girlfriend 

looking to spit in your face 

or f*ck you up.

I just want to say,

I'm sorry,

thank you,

I forgive you,

in the order, in case you are mulling over in your brain

some secret wrong you've done to me,

just like I have to you,

I want this river that runs with blood between us

to be clean.

But maybe that's too much

for me to ask.

And maybe, it's best for you to forget

but if I had died instead of left,

you would still put flowers on my grave,

so why does living have a harsher path to take?

I don't want your friendship, your love, but I'll accept your hate

if it's burning you, let me be the water,

for all I ask is that you peek through the slit in the door,

and acknowledge that you loved me before

and we're still here.

The End

1 comment about this poem Feed