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Ode to My Old Friend
My dearest friend,
I have much to say
with my voice so broken
and my heart feeling grey.
Because the words in my mouth
aren’t good enough for your ears,
so instead I use stolen verse
from past philosophers.
They were flesh and bone
like you and like I--
full of regret and mistake,
with oceans in their eyes.
Ink blotted paper,
deadlines and bullsh**.
I can’t write the same novels
but I feel the same anguish.
Summers shrink to winters
and young writers turn old poets,
with words wiser than mine,
and with tone heroic.
I will be lesser than my heroes.
Try as I may, I know I will fall
to be headstone and dirt beside
those who seemed so strong and tall.
And though I am dying,
it is not in vain:
down with the sorrow
and down with the chains!
Now in my hot summer
I sit and I write,
striving to be the ones
who fought good fights.
I am striving to be good again,
though I know I am a burden.
I’ll be quiet, I promise
though my plan is uncertain.
Please read my poetry
and hold it within.
Don’t strive to be anything
other than child with pen.
I know I have hurt you
and made myself a fool
and this poem will never assuage
the pain I have caused you.
I love you my dear
though I do not deserve to feel it,
and I want to be better for you
though I cannot redeem it.
Be kind to yourself
and sleep when you can.
Remember to eat
and write when you’re sad.
Though I am washed up
and shallow at best,
I refuse to forget the winter
I spent in your chest.
I am selfish and ill-cared for
but please don’t leave me.
Stay around and
remind me how not to be.
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This piece is a reflection of the winter of 2016, and the events that followed a lost love.