to my soul mate; you’ve grown so much— so fast. it’s been ten years since i met you, your baby hairs swimming in the breeze that occupied the summer air. Small scrapes upon your knees marking pavements walked by phantom dreams. it’s been nine years since the need to knock felt trivial, it’s been eight since i called you anything less than a sister. it’s been seven since you kept me alive, unknowingly breathing light and life into my soul, subconsciously promising that life wasn’t done with me quite yet. it’s been six since i felt your family was good as my own, and mine yours. it’s been five since i named my fish after you. she died, like they all did— but somehow yours was sadder. it’s been 4 since i left everything i knew but you were still there, three since i took little capsules of happiness, rendered obscure on the days i saw you, two since you joined me, one since our walks through death’s halls of fame, and zero since i loved you.
01-28-04
More by lila woodard
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city girl
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
my adolescent thoughts
ones i had pushed away
ones the little capsules of
blue and orange had suppressed.
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
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