PAST, PASSED
we forget this no longer exists.
told my stories,
called it my past.
oh, in my past.
it’s passed
but in my past-
let me spill this particular memory
stain this particular
moment
by letting timeframes of lost relevance
seep into the breaths
between you & I.
oh, in my past
& damn, no I don’t
at all
not for a single simple second
know that version of who I was
but somehow my fear of forgetting
struggles as my teeth slip
on, “well a while ago”
“a month ago”
“last July”
“when I was 16” “2 years ago”
on & on & on.
oh.
the past is so
abusive.
in a passive way, blended so evenly with
precious nostalgia
ah, wait come back past
im building a sense of self off you
right? remember, without you,
I’m less of who I consider me.
you built me, past, so you could feed off me
& continue creating yourself.
a sick cycle, though it works.
wait, past.
About the Creator
Emily Serena
truly, my dharma (life purpose) is to write. although death is an interesting means of a beggining to me rather than an end, I still choose to spend my moments as Emily, in this physical dimension, in a revolution of poetry & silent speech
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