funeral(s)

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I mourned
Every single one-
Closed the curtains, shut
The door, given each one
Their due respect and wept
And wept.
Some took me days,
Some took me months
And some years,
Before I opened the curtains
And the door.
Allow planes to circle moaning
Overhead, writing on the dark sky the message she is dead.

Each one was a part of me
Each one tore off me, painfully,
Burnt by fires,
And I
Am left to poultice
The wounds, and fill
The holes so I will
Be whole again,
But different
Again.

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A/N: This is about the death of self. Over the years, because of things that happened to us, we change (for better or for worse) and our old selves die. This poem laments the loss.


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