It appears to have been a few days now since I last posted a piece of poetry and so I have prepared a new piece. I have been guilty recently of focusing on one thing in my poetry and only looking at it from one perspective. So what I have prepared for today is a piece that approaches similar topics but from a different perspective and with a slightly different tone. There are references to previous pieces I have written so it should still feel vaguely familiar. I hope you all still enjoy this piece.
when you turn my way what do you see?
the remaining evidence of a love you gave up
then again, was there ever anything there?
it can’t have been of any significance
dropped in an instant with little remorse
you already told me you never loved me
you just liked the attention as you put it
harsh words spoken softly
what did you ever see?
a pair of lips and eyes of an indistinct colour?
it certainly wasn’t me you saw
I’m not here
my name is the only certainty
the rest is an empty book
a book you did not care to write
falling in love was not in your interests
the book I wrote of you is full
a flowing narrative of everything I fell in love with
every small detail others would not care to notice
the creases in your face as you smile
the smudges of ink on your left hand from your writing habits
drops of ink on your face from working so frantically
the specific amount of milk you like in your tea
the excitement in your eyes when reading the blurb of a new book
your eye that goes slightly lazy when focused on a phone screen for too long
the enthusiasm in your voice when explaining mathematical terms
the puffs in your cheeks as you eat strawberry laces
your arm linking mine in the cold winter breeze
makeup stains on the lapel of my winter coat
the hair clips you would leave on my bedside table
seeing your small shoes in the hallway of my house
the sound of your breathing when we’d lay completely still in silence
our heartbeats synchronising as I held you in my arms
a book with not one page left blank
I don’t even know if you could write a book of me
it would be hard to find something to love
not much can be found in a two dimensional cynique with scars on his arms
I do not blame you for leaving
if there was nothing to stay for then your decision was logical
I can only hope you find happiness
the book of you is closed, last chapter completed
the empty book you left will gather dust on the shelf
I hope you will find a book worth writing
for now, I am comfortably occupying empty pages
As I said I tried to do something different with this piece and make it a little more heartfelt than I have been in previous pieces. I hope everyone still enjoyed it and could take something from it. If you have any thoughts then please feel free to leave a comment below.
I plan to have another piece prepared before the end of this week, but until then I hope you all enjoy the rest of the week.