there are ghosts in this city, and only some of them are me

 
 
This city is in my bones  
and I wander it's streets  
like it can find parts of myself  
that I've lost  
 
There are ghosts of me  
on street corners and under bus shelters  
there's a long lost wine bottle full of my tears  
and a shrub that still carries my blood  
from the time I kicked it  
and tore myself up in a rage  
 
I opened my veins to these streets  
and they repaid me in cruelty  
they repaid me in kindness  
they repaid me in memories I'll never let go  
 
And maybe that's the problem  
that I don't want to let go  
of all the open wounds I stitched up  
and painted into poetry  
I don't want to say good bye  
to all the people I loved  
who couldn't love themselves enough  
nevermind that we don't talk anymore  
 
This city is in my bones  
and I wander it's streets  
like it can find parts of myself  
that I've lost  
 
But I'm not the same person  
there are no more wine bottles  
full of my tears  
there's no more pavement art vomit  
from a night lived both too hard  
and not hard enough  
 
I wander these streets  
like I can find parts of myself  
that I've lost  
 
Only I'm not lost  
and all these streets hold are memories  
that may be worthy of art  
but will never be worthy of worship  
 
I think it's time to let go  
 
© Indie Adams 2018