From Parts Of A Whole

Dear Memories,

            Remember when we use to write?

We created a blog under a pseudonym and would hash out story after story,

Tragically romantic,

Stupidly dramatic,

Each word written as if we were scholars gracing an audience with a new discovery in the field of literature,

This was our glory,

The story that could tell stories,

Driven to write one that was never boring,

And then we stopped.

Cease.

We stopped blessing our audience with our findings because we realized that what we wrote was not real,

The screaming voice,

The dying appeal,

It was never real,

Because of this we gave up our choice,

Since then writing was no longer our voice.

 

Sincerely,

Your Creator

 

Dear Cognition,

            Remember what it was like before we had to mature?

You mixed with the ADHD gasoline that powered me was empowering,

Yet looking back it was not that good was it?

We often forgot the keys to the apartment and had to go to the front desk just, so they could open the door for us.

Obviously, this upset mother and we tried to be more careful,

We tried to keep in that we need to pick them back up off the gym teacher’s windowsill,

Sometimes we did remember but many times we did not, but we did our best.

Cease.

Oh my gosh,

Remember when we had to take medication for the ADHD because we moved and talked too much?

Without it we were climbing every mountain that dared come before us,

An endless journey of raw energy determined to conquer the world,

But with it we became an ogre who’s only care was himself and his swamp,

Quiet, desolate, withdrawn, tired, and moody was our embodiment,

Then we realized that who we were was not who we were meant to be,

So, we stopped and overthrew our ADHD,

 

            Sincerely,

 

Your Pilot

 

Dear Romance,

            Remember when we use to not know who the other was?

When I say this, I mean when we interacted with other people,

The third-party individuals that caught our eye and made us ‘feel some type of way’,

A way that one cannot simply say,

A way that one is not able to explain,

So we has to express it,

Debone it from out breast,

Pick it up out of our chest,

To try to impress,

The individual that was more than the average person was more than just ourselves,

Cease,

It became a thing that we became addicted to,

like meth or cocaine,

We craved what it could do,

The thoughts that got a redo,

Again, and again, the music that we drew,

Our blood from red to blue, then purple as poison brewed we decided we had enough,

You, my dear friend, became overdue,          

           

Sincerely,

 

Your Expresser

 

Dear Coping Mechanisms,

            Remember how depression would try to ‘shoot the one’ but we always made it ‘catch s fade’ at the end of each skirmish, because we were determined to be David to its Goliath?

Our will to live was our sling and if we put it down,

Oh, the times-how many times did we want to put it to the ground?

How many times did we hide,

Days going by with our sling at our side,

“Do we give up?”

“Is it really worth it?”

“Maybe this is it.”

“I’m done.”

Cease.

You hit me so hard all those times,

You hyped me up as if I was at my prime,

Ali Mayweather fused,

Guns blazing with munition unused,

Like a soldier boy ready to see the field we did not yield,

And you taught me irresponsibly not to look him in the eye,

Instead he was in our rear-view always buried inside,

 

            Sincerely,

 

Your Patient

 

Dear Chris,

            I do not miss the old us, straight from the Go’ us,

Chop up our soul us, step on our goals us,

I love the new us, the gunning mood us,

The always nice us, pipe up our rights us,

I miss the idle us, wrapped in our bubble us,

I gotta say, at that time I’d like to be us,

See we invented us, it wasn’t any Chris’,

And now I look around and there’s so many Chris’,

I used to hate us, I used to gate us,

I even had the red prints, I thought it helped us,

What if we made a song, about us?

Called it “I Miss The Old Us,” man that’d be so us,

That’s all it was Chris, we still love Christ,

And I love you like we love us.

Cease.

We cannot be more thankful to all the recipients that helped me in the past,

Remembering what you did helped We overcome your overbearing cast,

Now we can think more freely for ourselves,

Without always needing to take you off the shelf.

We thank you for letting me make the mistakes you aided us in making up till now,

The pain that we face,

The bone breaking hits that collided with my fragile spirit changed us for the better,

Even as we sit here we think back and write this letter,

Throwing fist, we are Mayweather,

My goliath, McGregor,

Ronda, Ali, Jackie, and Lee,

We are becoming stronger in the drive to be us,

And when we have reached my stage of enlightenment we will become the embodiment of our own beliefs.

 

            Sincerely,

 

Chris

This poem is about: 
Me
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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