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To Get Over Someone You Must First Get Under Someone Else

Poetry By: Kathleen Megquier
Poetry



I don't know when I'll ever get over this, the saying 'To get over someone you must get under someone else' is so true, but who will have me?


Submitted:Jun 6, 2012    Reads: 54    Comments: 0    Likes: 0   


The florescent smells of the room have me going insane with happiness.

I almost feel right with myself and the world orbiting around me.

The colorful, various shaped, people allow me to focus on what really matters.

Sanity's finest, the most contemporary pieces of art relinquished and damaged.

The vibrantly hued scarps are all that can keep me warm from the cold.

My memories of you are getting old, decayed, deteriorating, revealing it's rot out through me.

I'm the zombie like creature loved you.

Now, I'm mindless and numb.

Searching for a reason to succumb and retract my steps only to find myself at your door once more.

Yet, I know if I do, everything, every shrivel left of rational thinking shall vanish from my being.

I miss those works of art we use to make on your ocean blue sheets, but I can not return, coming forth will only define my defeat.

So, I sit, I wait patiently for rain, I know that the rejuvenation process will lurk it's head out again, reminding me it's a new day, demanding I do not rot, screaming at me, telling me that it's not all lost.

Verbally it's easy, physically accepting these facts, erasing the imagery.

It's just too much, it's too large of a task. I can't give up your lips, your entity within me, it won't matter how many baths I take, or how hard I scrub, you're embedded in me, your soft whispers have won.

I just want to feel pretty, longer than for just a moment, this floral retreat won't protect me forever, I'll have to move on, maybe find a more dangerous endeavor than you.

I wonder how well my body would do enduring that change of season?

My summer lusting feels like torture, I can't fathom the next comparison. Your blue eyes and sun droplets of hair, the tenderness of your skin, indulgence I get every time I morph my lips into the plump red fruits that are yours.

It can't happen again.

I have to use my body as the reckless form of the ship at sea, the ocean's horrors must cease to terrify me.

The rotting from inside my mouth spreads to my lips, my nose, my brow, my eyes, my cheeks, everywhere it's coming.

I scream, allowing it to know my true weakness, the failure to be beautiful, the achievement of being gawked at, laughed at, a Halloween mask you just can't seem to take off.

Wouldn't it of been better if I just would of stayed there, your everlasting feather drifting daintily on to your nose.

Composed and hallow are the landscapes I land on.

You no longer show happiness, flirtation, liberation for my presence.

Simply, without complication, you have won.

You stolen my outer exterior, my inners beg to be released, to be capable of rotting in the sun.

I'm dead, no longer beating, vibrancy fleeing, not a single breath ready to exhale,engross it's contribution into this environment, a life without you is stale.

Forever if not always you realize, I'm nothing without you.

A pebble.

A grain of sand.

A strain of hair.

A lingering finger nail.

You'll never know the pain you've caused, the heart you swallowed, and the girl you robbed.





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