Her

I remember how she told me

that she loves how soft her feet become when she

walks out of the shower, and now, I notice mine

but they end with toes of shapes alien to me,

and begin at heels which just cannot recover

from visualized memories of the time

I spent trying to imitate decent height with shoes

that would scrape my skin until my flesh would remember

that if I was meant to be tall, I would have been.

Maybe it was her velvety feet, or her head touching the

upper ends of your ears that made you fall

head over heels

in love with her, because I had neither; I still don’t.

 

On her wild, happy days, she would start screaming

lyrics, and names, and even random words

but they would all sound like music to me (probably to you too,

aren’t you in love with music?), and now I do the same. I twirl around

in my own symphonies until the world grabs me by my shoulders

and rattles me like a 6 month old’s toy maracas, and makes cacophony

about how I have been acting like her (again).

 

I would keep wondering if she had something about her or if I

had nothing in me  at all, and I know now it’s both,

but this conclusion doesn’t make anything better,

and it couldn’t make anything worse,

for all I have left to say is

 

I do not blame you for choosing her over me,

because unknowingly,

I did the same.

 

 

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