is there a love which forgets?
a love, which
so often reminds me i am shallow,
a fragmented narrative structure.
a love which
is adored like broken wrists,
like winter’s sun.
a love which,
envelopes me in mango juice,
that is all too sweet,
remind yourself that i am only young.
that i am only young.
for this reason,
you must remember that there are narratives written about
vignettes which stain the curtain sill,
memories which are better left unsaid.
children who are better left untouched,
a rhapsody with no singer.
a doorknock with no answer.
remind yourself of the casual insecurities,
your wrinkles and the empathy.
these are the cinematic memories which i have tried so hard to forget.
but how can we?
i am the imprint of a cardboard cut out,
an infant with a stutter.
i am all the things you wish i was not.