Siyona.S.stay

Third of December, a day I could never forget.
I hold onto the sweater that was meant for me.
I ran to you, excited to share my day,
but your eyes were fixed on her
while we talked.

I want to cry

I want to let it out

Each tear

A reminder of my failures

Each tear 

Filled with my fears

Each tear

A bottle of sadness 

Maybe anger

I want to cry

it is morning

defined 

by linen against soft skin

wet grass 

and an orange sunrise

quiet 

from the west

to the east 

a bus is parked 

I really hate it,

being the one who messed up

the one who ruined the relationship

the bad guy

the person someone vents about because I was someone they used to love

we all have weapons 

Today I saw my sister

the way she used to be—

not because she changed,

but because I remembered.

She was just there,

messy with noodles,

doing nothing special at all.

And somehow

this will be

the first 

and the last 

dance 

we'll share 

I'll be wearing pink

riding high on a childhood dream

waltzing 

like it's 1945