Are you scared?
You asked.
No, I’m ready.
I answered.
You say,
That happened really fast.
And that’s when I get it,
All over again.
This past year and a month, and change
Was the longest of my life
But to you,
It was quick.
Just a flash in the pan.
Just another year.
Just another fucking year.
I stopped talking to you
Some months ago
Sick of myself
The pathetic mess I had become.
How many unanswered emails and texts
Did I send you?
Did you hoard them,
Like you do,
Or delete them
Upon receipt?
These poems used to go out into the world
Under a pseudonym
To protect the guilty
For some reason.
I think I’m done being quiet now.
And I’m definitely done
Talking to you.
Now, I take the mic
Read my poems to you
For the last time
And shred them into scraps.
A murder of words
Death to the fragile,
The broken,
Whatever the hell I thought we had.
The pieces fall to my feet.
I throw them into the swinging lid
Of a stainless steel trash can.
Take out my pretty blue notebook
And start over
On a new page.
by Julie Blue 