The last poem I'll write about you

Memories frozen in amber

are dropped on my doorstep like a cruel present--

your freckles and your smile and your green eyes like grass and summer leaves,

that nickname nobody had ever called me

before you,

how I cried into your shoulder the last day

like the world was going to end.

You said you weren't coming back, and it hurt--

an unknowable ache that wedged itself deep within me for eleven months,

eleven months of writing poems and dreaming dreams

about you,

the best friend I thought I'd only ever meet again within my own mind.

And now I almost wish that had been true

because nothing could hurt worse than

watching your beautiful green eyes skim over me that June 25th

just as I was about to say how much I'd missed you

but the words died in my throat as I watched you walk away

and began to wonder if you were a ghost after all,

not the magical girl from a summer past.

You left me a dreamer with mushroom earrings and Nirvana T-shirts

and returned

a faker, coated in concealer and lies.

(I saw right through you, but most people didn't.)

This version of you never told me I was amazing one periwinkle evening on the Big Top,

never walked with me to the dining hall or called me by that nickname,

never said It's all good with a smile strong enough to part the clouds.

This version of you was too good for me, I guess,

or just didn't care,

even though you used to care about me

a whole lot,

or at least I cared about you.

But the image I had of you in my mind

has cracks running through the center

since you're not who you used to be, 

and I don't know when you'll be her again.

So I must say goodbye.

Because this, I promise,

is the last poem I'll write about you.



13 years old

More by star

  • Closer to spring

    Darkness falls quickly now,

    the feeble sky overpowered by the black pull of eternity.

    Snow turns to rain, rain turns to mud,

    and every month, I bleed and I cry.

    It's almost Christmas, but

  • My Heart Will Heal

    Your eyes are dark like midnight, filled with millions of tiny stars

    and I don't know what to say to you, what to do

    because when I see you,




    not in two but in so many scattered pieces,

  • Lose you to the night

    We talk as the twilight turns to dark ash, 

    sit out on the porch and catch fireflies in mason jars--

    only for a second, then let them fly.

    You tell me about friends I barely know, and I nod and smile at you,