For a short time, we were connected
by an evergreen thread that my eyes saw as red,
you spirited me away,
whispering that you were my best friend,
but you never whispered secrets.
The me all those years ago
thought we would go on forever
and never thought about how easily
thread is cut, no matter the color
when you decided to become a missing boy.
Now, you’re the ghost of a missing boy,
you fade away in fragments
then reappear as whole
and while your skin is real,
your promises are paper.
You’re the faded spirit of high-pitched laughter
that echoed throughout the halls,
you float around me, tricking me
into lingering longer,
into believing that you won’t vanish again.
We’ve lost time and trust
with every day of silence until
you became my poltergeist,
an empty version of yourself
you only show to me.
You must think I’m a ghost too
forgiving you like an eternal thirteen year-old
and always phasing into my cold arms,
but I’m flesh and blood and bones
and I won’t be haunted anymore.
An L-shaped couch stuffed into the corner exists only with me in it. I’m slouched, squished between cotton fabric and blankets of yellow light and lined linen. My hand is aching from scribbling down words for like, hours, stringing together strands about some far-off, mysterious land covered in flowers. My big bowl of mint chocolate chip sitting on the little end table didn’t even melt—it was gone way before that. My phone buzzes across the room and stand up slowly, dragging my elegant gown of blankets. I’m the Queen of Comfy tonight.
An invite reminder comes up on my phone since I was supposed to go out tonight. Guilt bit a little hole in my mood. I stood there for a while blankly staring down at the glow of my phone when he
finally shuffles in the room.
I gaze up at him in his white t-shirt with a look on my face that’s probably like a mix of confusion and well, guilt.
He ruffles my hair, messing up my curls but it’s fine since I think that a big mess is the purest form of self.
“Well now I can’t go for sure right?” I say. “I’m a mess,”
“You’re a happy mess,” he tells me. “You never intended on going anywhere.”
You flip on TLC, the ultimate nothing channel and we can’t even skip the commercials. I’m fine with that too since nothing is nothing with him. My phone buzzes again.
“It’s Paige texting me.” I mutter.
“Are you sad you aren’t going?” He asks.
“No.” I answer, content.
I disappear into cozy again.
When I was small and not yet sentimental,
My whole world was all magic and my old, creaky, home
that hid behind the shadow of a wieldy White Ash.
It wasn’t a home without the steep, secret stairs,
Narrow hallways and dipping ceilings,
The echoing piano, and the smell of cookies.
My dark house was constantly filled with light.
I’ll remember the summers.
When I gazed at the faint glow of fairy-lights and fireflies,
I was a daydreamer dancing in the noisy night.
I would run around during rainstorms,
barefoot, barreling down the singing street,
parading through every puddle, dripping with delight
‘till the booming thunder made me retreat.
I would search the sprawling suburbs for adventure,
Wearing wet white converse covered in creek water
And go spying for new creatures to catch.
My whole world used to be awfully small.
Presently in what seems like perpetual fall,
I think with sense, not sensibility,
and reality is ripping me up
with its twisting time and truths.
As I move far, far away from there,
my sleepy eyes stare into
train windows that turn to mirrors.
Unprotected and unprepared,
I must leave at last.
I wrote this poem last semester about moving out of my childhood home. It was incredibly bittersweet…And then we didn’t end up selling it.