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Reckless

Fear of Goodbyes

By Luz IbarraPublished 4 years ago 2 min read
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The now splattered canvas

there’s a joy in falling down , getting your knees scraped and running towards your mom so she can kiss the boo boo goodbye, at that age goodbyes weren’t painful , they actually brought joy in knowing that goodbye meant I’ll see you in the morning at school , at church , or at your aunts house, goodbyes never meant forever , yet forever became more distant as you grew up and all the goodbyes that you said become infinite , you said goodbye to your best friend whom you thought would be your best friend forever , goodbye to the teacher that motivated you and whom you had a slight crush on, an internal and heartening goodbye to the boy you thought you loved but never even knew you existed , these goodbyes hurt even more so then the scrape on your knee, in your deepest thoughts you wished that scrape would replace the pain of losing a friend or a lover , you become reckless as an adult and begin to keep as many people in your fish bowl as possible, you’re a collecter of feelings and dispose of those who don’t stimulate your hypothalamus , your bowl is full sometimes of the wrong type yet you continue to House them, keeping them safe and at arms reach, yet your reckless behavior was never mature enough to keep them long enough, keeping them was a torture for them and you, you couldn’t see past your fear of goodbyes , that fear seeped out of your interior membrane into a concrete idea that goodbyes were painful and you never wanted to experience that stabbing pain in your chest , you allowed people to walk in but if they walked out your world crumbled , the reckless woman who you tried to bury , resurfaced, resurrected , and resubmerged to act selfishly once more , the selfish drinking and the obsessive promiscuity burned the bridge to healthy relationships, reckless is your middle name and no matter how much you try to see white , the red splatters and blue hues of your rebellion seep deep into your being and you’re left no longer a white canvas but instead splatters of reds and blues covering your once purity and your now recklessness

surreal poetry
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