Apostle


he was my guidance,

the flame that lit my soul.

His slightly tanned hands molded me from a

lump of cold clay.

He shaped me, a linguistic michael angelo,

he carved my mind with his mellifluous words;

each one twisting my spine, vertebrae by vertebrae until I cannot go back to the way I was.

He was my Zeus, mighty and sempiternal, He is the one who drew the map and led me

away from Lost. He is the one that made me lift

a pen and make shapes that freed my mind. He is the one that taught me how to teach.

He is the one that my soul will miss most. He awakened something

in me so real, so alive, that no matter what weapon the monster beneath my bed shoves

into my hands and whispers wickedly ‘do it. do it for real, this time’ I will refuse. I will embrace the

creature beneath my mattress and I will hold it as we weep for the loss of my mentor.

He is gone, now. When he told me I said nothing. I shut off my mind so the tears
wouldn’t fall. My heart bled, that day.

Creating a gap in the circle we had been crafting for three years.

It was only when I collapsed in the comfort of my home that the impact truly struck. My glasses become cloudy, and my breath

came in heaves. This God before me, who had noticed my struggles when not even I had noticed them myself— this man,

who planted the seed that grew into everything that I love— this man who had made

such a massive ripple in my life, was walking away. And all I could do is smile

and wave— hoping one day he’d

know what he did for me. What he did for everyone who had perched in plastic

blue chairs. What he had done for the world. My hero is gone, but his footprints remain. 

I stand in them, waiting for my feet to grow until I can fill them again. That is what he taught me 

He taught me who I want to be.
 

lila woodard

VT

YWP Alumni

More by lila woodard

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    i feel like i don’t know you anymore. 

    i barely recognize your face at this point 

    all your city friends hate me 

    playful kisses in the comments 

    much more sinister then they seem
  • november pills


    it's a reprise of 
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    ones i had pushed away 
    ones the little capsules of 
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    but those capsules sometimes 
    stuck in my throat, 
  • i’ll push back


    you make me feel trapped,
    struggling to get free. 
    you hold everything you've ever done for me,
    dangle it over my head 
    and taunt me with its existence. 
    you use your favors as bargaining chips