The summer heat is sinking
in beneath my skin and I
remember how I used to need to keep
a notpad right next to the pool-
how I would drink a pot of coffee
and my pen would race over
page after page with the love of
a boy whose touch I had never
even felt-
but now with heartbreak after
heartbreak worn on my sleeve,
stiched into my skin,
and spread across my bed-
I drink a pot of coffee,
cuddle close to air conditioners
and my pen cant find the courage
to create a poultice and draw out
the poison of things buried deep-
like how I couldn’t sleep for two years
because he should have been there,
arms unfolding around me and
kissing memories into my neck
instead of three-hundred miles away
pretending to be faithful even after
I uncovered the truth-
like how I let someone leave
bruises on my throat-
like how I should have pushed
him away when he pulled me down-
like how I wanted so badly to
love someone who was
and fair
and would reach for my hand first
that I allowed him to lock me away
like a dirty little secret and
remind me constantly that I could
never (despite not eating until I felt
faint, despite changing my clothes, my hair, my views)
be his type.
And I find myself missing a time
when my pen sang of longing
and star-crossed lovers
because bitter is a look I have
been wearing for far too long
and the summer has stripped
away the layers I have used to
hide it all away in.

“summer”- 7-11-14-jessicagadziala


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