I yearned for those three syllables to exit her mouth
reaching my ears so the smile could warm my face.
Only then, I would understand. Only then.
I've been called Lux after her favorite video game
I've been called you when they can't remember
I've been called everything but those three syllables
The name of a person who's never believed.
A name easily forgotten, so much so that
perhaps it never existed in the first place
Or perhaps it never mattered. Lost to time.
The time of people that make me into
what they need me to be, without care
of the debris that remains. The pieces that I
have to pick up when they leave me and I
am left to ask only one thing:
Who am I?
YOU ARE READING
Faces of Autonomy: A Poetry Collection
Poetry"The bones break, building upon one another-each vertebrae snapping, stacking, until my limbs reach the highest shelves." -From Chameleon. TW: Abuse, Grief, Loss, Violence. Poetry was never a genre I thought I would get into. I read very little po...
