Step 1: Release Dove.

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
Freeverse poem about letting go of an emotional anchor.

Submitted: September 14, 2012

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Submitted: September 14, 2012

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You are all my past regrets stitched into my favorite quilt. Ironic how those seams are one of the few things that have patched my heart and I still wish I could tear them out.

Bear with me gents, yes this shattered heart, chest explosion of an emotional intervention I’ve laid out may be a grizzly tale, but nevertheless one with a Disney ending.
Sweet sweet dove, how perfect you sit on the pedestal I told myself I never placed you on. The branches you sit on are much too high to see how utterly fucked the forest below is. No matter how dizzy the wedding bells, rings, vows…not even the carriages of plans I laid for you; or the whiplash you endured because of my admitted fickleness…plans were never the answer, just a way to celebrate our mistakes. And there were many….I promise you that nothing I caused, no amount of  hurt or wing ripping choices I made can compare to the near wildfire you sit right above. The heart of my forest is seared. I’ll apologize to the sun for taking its glory, but not before I let the world know how empty you’ve left me.

Wow…that was depressing. Let’s liven this up a bit, maybe take it from a Thoreauvian/Poe to a more modern state.

Let’s put it this way, this is me saying, “No. I will not drunk text you in the middle of the night, having spent the previous half hour thinking of something clever or cat related to say in a pathetic attempt for you attention.” “No. I will not think of you everyday, all day, until I am otherwise distracted by work, movies..etc or I shut down.” No ma’am, no darling, no pumpkin fuck, I will no longer be at your beck and call for food, or some downright castastrophe that has no doubt happened.” If you would like to see me dove, it’s going to be because you want to see me. That’ll be the only reason I accept. You or us or this…whatever shit…is killing me.
Apparently I’m on some 12 step, rehab program from you. Addiction so far past addiction, they let me self medicate regularly with Blue Moon, Shiner, and barrels of whiskey. Hello, My name is Zachary and I’m addicted to her, to her impossibly flawed yet somehow pristine and perfect love.
Herein lies the issue dove, because apparently Mr. Alex Clare had it all right, “I’m just too close to love you.” Sadly enough, those words are nice when I drive home from work at night, but in all reality I am competely in love with you. Still. No matter what you may think or say, no matter what I think or say for that matter. But in this awful predicament I think I’ve finally realized what to do.

I have decided that I care too much about you, your feelings…hell everything that even vaguely relates to you so much that I have to be done wishing and hoping that we’ll ever be together. Ever again. So here goes that!

I just miss you quite honestly, but I’ll get drunk, pass out and make sure to never let a bird get so high in my forest, my heart, that they can’t even see that it’s burning, broken, destroyed…right beneath them. And sweetheart, if there is one honest thing, one truthfact, you can take from anything we have or ever had, its this: I’ll love you forever. I’ll like you for always, as long as I’m living. My baby you’ll be.

-Zachary


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