Poem to a Younger Me Who Doesn't Yet Believe

Come out, little Girl
Climb through your small door
of despondency into my arms
and I'll take care of you
the way I did him.
You, with your first real Poem
not knowing what to do with it.
Not recognizing Real
because everything in your Life
has been betrayal.
Not recognizing Truth
as an Omen of good will
because nothing in your Life has been
up until now. Stop asking yourself
how you let this happen
as though you didn't know it would.
As though you didn't write
it into the fabric of your experience,
this culmination bearing down
into the evolution of your Being
the strange silence --
whisper of pianos and knives
carving music into your denial.
Come, be nostalgic with me
we'll make new memories
for new days,
leave the present for now
lay gently back into
the backseat of the car
backroads, let him lean into you
the orange sky blurred,
the honey of your hive flowing.
Images of your mother washing dishes
the scroll left behind by birds
telling you leave yourself or die.
Let him in, open the cocoon
of your mouth; let marbles bloom and bloom from the Heart of Poetry
and you, you with him there
on the slick verb where you both slip
tumble together into the future.
Noun this. Adjective there. Don't resist.
Poem that, hurt and everywhere sore
and blue from togetherness.
It's alright; remember with me
No one will miss you, your dog will find
water from a dip in the big rock  
Don't worry about turning off the light
checking the stove or if the doors are locked.
Just walk.
Walk right into the dark grave with me;
It's the beginning of your Life
Your mansion is already built
the foundation laid on rock;
no one can drown, see?
The ocean is drained.
Come with me, you are me  
Can you feel us, sweet one?
Scared one? Lean into my ear
and whisper me our secret again,
say it aloud so you hear it
within the hierarchy of sound.
Say it.
He is a Poet;
he is linked to the Poems
He has plans of his own
that won't grow right out of you
without his thumb and forefinger
plucking you too.
You'll make one small whimper
and it'll be done - all your Life
for this real estate moment.
Come on out, listen to the night
curled up here on this porch against me,
bleeding words as though  
they'll save you from insanity.
Let's talk about what was seen
that can no longer be detected
in the daylight of our past, shall we?
Now, pass that wine.
Let's talk about us before surrendering;
Let's laugh at having ever doubted it.    
Written by Ex-Machina (Ava)
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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