the old things

I still find myself going over the old things,
in the midst of the new and the change
consistently checking my past for any lost clues,
any answers or defense.
I spend my days trying not to become bitter
I write, “be sweet, be sweet, be sweet”
that’s the only way I won’t be sour
or take up any more burdens, and accept defeat.
I try to handle forgiveness with fragile fingers,
because I know if I let any of my sharpness,
sharp memories, sharp lies, sharp pain,
touch it, i will no longer know it.
and with everything I have
I’ll hide
hide any affection and feeling
until I can manage feeling again
I will never take back my dedication to passion
even when all I want is to be numb

I spend my days trying not to become bitter

I write, “be sweet, be sweet, be sweet”

every movement has become surreal
every night turns into day
every wandering into more reason
to no longer count on you
I still find myself going over the old things,
in the midst of the new and the change
waiting for all the colored leaves to become golden
and the change to take their place

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