This Poem isn’t for You

This poem isn’t about you
This poem isn’t for bright brown
eyes lost sight lungs lost sweet breath beautiful smile lost life
it’s not for you or your
lips gone still blue unmoving and now I think
blue might really be the colour of misery
like they say

It isn’t about another day slow
sorrow stretches time into pale thin sheets
that can’t support happiness for long
before shattering
it’s not about another day that your
pillow’s
gone
slighty
colder
memory’s
gone
slighty
more faded and dimmed and
nothing can help that

(I’ve checked)

This poem isn’t about tending to a
small bush of the white roses you liked
or that watering and cutting out weeds
gets less boring with time

This poem isn’t about holding
my own hand in my other
but imagining yours on the other side
It’s not about a certain tender touch missed or
voice heard in those of others but
only for a moment
blind similarity lasts short

This poem isn’t about you
Because I couldn’t write that one.

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