Open the curtains.
Let the darkness in.
Such a liar,
And wholly insignificant–
Fraught with daydreams and distractions.

Don’t look at them —
These choices can’t be unmade.
And without them,
What is left,
My friendless misanthrope?

Supposing you set
Your intentions to right,
Plant it in the rocky soil —
Another decade of cultivation —
You know what comes next.
No one can sustain so long
An effort unsupported.

And no,
This is not where I meant to be,
Overgrown with weeds
And relying on roots alone
To get through another season.

And no,
I do not want to relinquish this,
Even if it is
A mirage,
A facade,
A fantasy.

And no,
I do not want to admit
The truth of the lie.

But yes,
However haphazardly chosen,
This is my soil now
To tend.

And yes,
It is time
To release
These shadows.

And yes,
I acknowledge
The never known,
And can choose now
To call it by its true name.

But love,
It can be so sweet.
And I hate the taste
And texture
Of these ashes
On my tongue.


About Emily

I may or may not have: A. Dirt B. Ink C. Paint D. Wool under my fingernails.

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