When you see me
for the first time,
you may think that
I'm a collected person
who has no scars
hidden beneath her sleeves
and pant legs.
People ask me why
don't I smile more?
Believe me, I've tried
so hard to smile
and choke down the
ghosts that haunt me,
but they yank out my teeth
and stretch my mouth out wide
until my jaw is locked up
and the words that
I once knew how to recite
so perfectly and uniformly
quiver like the pen I'm
holding when I'm
writing my suicide note.
When I smile
it stretches out
like a tape measure
that keeps reeling back
violently and making
a sharp scream
every time it slithers back
into it's hiding place.
My eyes hide nothing
and refuse to shut
because they are scared
that when they finally
decide to close,
that death will creep up
from behind and sweep
me up in a final dance.
The bags underneath them
are too heavy for me to carry
myself,
so I let them sit next to me
while I wait for the bus to come
and take me back to 2014
when the sun still licked my rosy cheeks
and the moon was my old pen pal.
My ghosts are sleeping during the day
when I'm alone and don't come
back out to haunt me
until someone strides on by
and tells me,
'you should smile more.'
YOU ARE READING
I Was She
Poésie[Complete] A series of poems and short stories tell the sad tale of a breakup, of rejection, and of finding new love. From losing her soulmate to learning to see the world from a different perspective, M.A. Rivers writes down every last feeling that...
