Her

She wrote me after a long time

After eons of me looking for her

To see how she was, to apologize

Only after I put a stop to my seeking

Her text landed on an autumn day like a dry leaf in my hair

Seeds of the past sprouted instantly

She didn’t prod, but I opened like a flower

Slowly over time

Two spheres in motion

My sadness seeping through the sprouts

Coloring the buds in blue and grey

It’s not that she discovered my secret —

I just had to let her know that

I’m both astonishing

And a worthless piece of shit

And that there’s just no way around the heaviness

I carry around

To the park

To the museum

To bed

. . .

“You’ve got the smarts to make it in most things”

Her words ached

Because in truth,

I lack the passion,

Perseverance,

A general resilience

And a light heart…

Gutless!

We communifaked

In synesthetic cowardice

Watering my sprouts with platitudes

And repressed tears

Before the inevitable harvest.

© Lola Sense 2021

. . .

Thank you for reading this very personal poem! This poem was initially published on Medium. If you like my work, I would very much appreciate a like, a share, a comment, a tip, or a coffee! 💜

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