Parting Words

I told myself I’d write 

until my fingers went numb 

and the taste of you

turned into something sour,

something I could spit out.

I told myself the words

could make it better,

that poetry was the 

x-marks-the-spot

on the map 

of getting over it 

that somehow the pages

I’ve filled with your name

mean something more 

than my missing childhood

something more than 

an apology for everything

I didn’t do wrong

something more than 

realising the scars you left

are real, raw

and still bleeding.

I told myself I was worth more

than dragged out silence

and stale apologies,

left outside for days

and so I’ve written, 

until the taste in my mouth 

is so gritty, so bitter

that I don’t know anything else 

and your name fills

every corner of my poems 

and the memories

keep me up at night

and I hope today 

is the last time

I write about your hands 

and mouth

and eyes

I hope today

I can put down my pen 

and stop feeling sorry 

for the scars you left on me

I hope today I will start to heal.