HER
The truth is I missed her dearly.
She didn’t care to crack
perfection and tilt it on its side
to watch the pieces slide out.
She drives up and out
of the mountains and mixes red
bull with adderall. She spins in place.
She is before and I am after.
She wasn’t relieved to be sick.
I am relieved because I am not dying.
I am just less. Less than her
and what she was made of.
I now have no room for more.
I miss her as I wrap my knees.
As I take the pills and fill out
the maze of forms in every
waiting room.
Ticking boxes.
Dizziness.
Joint pain.
Rash.
I wish I could tell her
To enjoy her makeup
And her twenty-four year-old face
She was alive at that moment
But she was not thankful to be
Alive
3 thoughts on "HER"
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I love the choice in line breaks. I wonder, is this poem about a younger version of yourself?
Yes it is!
Amazing how gratitude changes an outlook. Liked this very much.