The Final Poem. (10/03/18)

I’d call it inspiration, but writing about you doesn’t come from just any inspiration,

It doesn’t come from blooming wildflowers,

Kind eyes or soft skin.

It doesn’t come from sincere lyrics or perfect harmonies.

Writing about you comes from pain.

Memories of my perfect dysfunction.

Writing about you hatches from memories of my torment,

Wasted fantasies I spent all day

Creating, creating, creating,,,

Creating what became a nightmare with a dream’s heart.

The mask of “happily ever after.”

But that’s never what you were

Or what you were meant to be.

And I guess I had to grow to notice who you were,

Even though I still don’t know for sure.

I’m safer now that I’ve ruled out my hypothesis.

I’m glad you’ve grown too.

Though I’m not sure how much,

But at least you seem to be smart enough to keep your distance.

If you aren’t cautious you might catch my girl-cooties.

And what a terrible thing that would be,

Wouldn’t it?

I realize now that its not your fault that I’ve painted you as a monster

But thats the only image you possess in my head

And I hate that it had to be that one,

I really do.

It’s not that it’s your fault that I’ve been hurt before

But without you, it wouldn’t have happened.

That doesn’t mean it was anything you’ve done,

It was my own twisted imagination of our future, if we were to have one.

Oh how I used to wish we had one.

But now, I declare this the end.

Waving goodbye to the memories,

They were bitter while they lasted.

And here it lies,

The last of my poems you’ll ever possess.

goodbye.

xx.

-nonni.