I carve your name on any blank canvas I have.
I have written our story on windows and shower walls,
I have scribbled our initials on restaurant napkins and newly paved sidewalks,
I rewrite song lyrics to remind me of our first touch and our last goodbye,
and most of all, I end each chapter with "I'm sorry" and wipe my tears as I cry.
But "I'm sorry" doesn't cover the year-long dust surrounding our story in between those frames.
"I'm sorry" doesn't throw out those napkins and cover where we used to walk,
"I'm sorry" doesn't forget those lyrics; it doesn't forget those fucking talks,
and most of all, "I'm sorry" doesn't fix my broken heart, and it sure as hell doesn't heal my arm.
I carve your words deep into my skin and watch myself bleed.
I write those miscommunications and gentle insecurities on my hands,
I scribble the exact time and date you started to pull away onto my thighs,
I rewrite the I love you's on my stomach and wonder to myself
If I kept saying "I'm sorry" and you kept saying it's fine
then why have I begun to carve your name into a straight line?
YOU ARE READING
The Truth Embarks a New Beginning
PoetryWhen you feel like there's no way out, life laughs and toys with your pain. But, when pain is built on top of pain, the doors of mockery close, and you can walk out into the world, with a newfound understanding and acceptance of what shit you have o...
