I wish these were your footsteps.
The ones I hear when I close my eyes and imagine my storybook lover,
Written with precise detail,
Adjectives to describe every scar,
And a toxic love meant for the soap operas.
Language isn't enough to describe you.
You're not my prize, only a literary thief.
You require five dictionaries and two rings,
Prophesized in emerald green crystal balls.
With visions of me in your quests,
I become your enemy and nemesis.
Archived receipts litter your penned possessions,
As I note that everything I do, has been done in a previous chapter.
You tell me I am the air that you breathe,
The ink to your paper,
Yet these idioms are disregarded,
Pieced together from scrapbooks
And gifts that remind you of who was written for you.
My character claws her way through pages of another story,
As she begs me to end her in happily ever after.
YOU ARE READING
An Ode to Muses to Polyhymnia
PoetryThis poetry collection explores loneliness, theology, Biblical characters, depression, heartbreak, and disappointment. It's a good read for someone going through a bad time, but surprisingly hopeful.
