on forgetting

days are split,between when i feel
as though i am forged of iron,
indestructible and fierce
and days in which i feel
i am a dandelion sort of person,
designed to break apart
at the slightest gust of wind

on the day i was a flower,
waving to and fro
you found me,
and told me that a dandelion
grows through anything
grows despite everything
and when all is said and done
all it does is spread sunshine

i promised to remember that.

you were the wind,
but instead i was swept up in you
around you and through you
you reeked of poison,
but all i could smell were roses.
you watered me in the river Lethe,
and i could never have enough

when you left, without a final drop,
the echo of you grew,
surrounding me in smoke and dust
i try to shake your ghost
but it is embedded in my shadow
so that now i can no longer bloom

i had asked, with mirth in my tone,
is this the part where you eat my heart?
tear it out with your daggers for teeth,
and flaws for hands?

your gaze was cold
but you smiled
nonetheless
—        i am tired of dreaming of you.

 

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