deepundergroundpoetry.com

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
Indie
Written by Indie (Miss Indie)
Published | Edited 5th Jul 2018
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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