I️ am
The cocoon of a cicada
Attached to a tree
Or some wet towel girl
At the club, in the small dress
I'm clinging
To these memories of you
I'm sniffing out old tapes, photos, and clothing
In the hope that
I️ could feel your presence one last time
Wishing
That I️ could see your face
And that smile that you did so well to hide.
I️ miss you
And people don't understand that
Because
My relationship with you
Was special. Unique.
One-of-a-kind-
You can't find it anywhere else on this earth
I️ still look for you
In Indian picture books
And old clothes
And at the bridge to Macinac Island
YOU ARE READING
Her Story
PoetryNo more hiding. My name is not Alex, or Leila, or Stevie. I'm Stephanie and I haven't had everything great, though some things definitely are. Though, my poetry only reveals itself in heartache, so these are mostly sad. I hope you learn more about m...
