It Hurts Me.

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

this is about the way it hurts to not be chosen, even when it was never an option.

Submitted: July 03, 2018

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Submitted: July 03, 2018



It was the way I sat on tile tombstones,
how the 4x4 was comfort and not capture,
an iron made bed with steel walls and brink windows.

The den we dwell in,
how we both have mistaken ourselves
for the lions and closed our own mouths.

How his head rests on a porcelain pillow
absorbing the amber blueberry piss pouring from his closed lips,
my nose aflame with the sting of his breathe.

My fingers slipped through his hair, his skin burned my figure tips.
His eyes reached mine with a head full of ghosts
and a grand cannon between us.

Loose lips can't form metaphors.
poetics fail me.
Plain, simple, honest as I can be.

What if he chose someone else?
What if he wanted them?
Would he walk away with them?

That would hurt me.

Have I been using him as an escape route.
That’s not really a question.
What if we both walked away, would he choose me.

I don’t ask that question.

I have never believed he would choose me.
Even when he said it.
How he looks at them, his eyes don’t lie.

But I do, I did believe him.

What if we both fell away, would he choose me.
I didn't ask that as a question,
because I know his answer.

I have already chosen?
Even if he walked away, even if he took one of them with him.
He would not choose me if he did not choose Him.

It would hurt me.

I think I'll stay, even if he walks away.

It hurts me.

© Copyright 2019 Kaleb Lyons. All rights reserved.

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