recovering

there is so little for me to write about because i've set the pain aside and it isn't worth a few poems to pick it back up so instead i will write about the one who took the pain away and folded it neatly with seventeen creases into a brown leather suitcase and sent it off with a strange man in a clean white postage vehicle with no return address instead i will write about the night when i was falling asleep and right before my mind submerged itself into whatever vision it could imagine i felt a piece of my heart wedge itself tighter into its designated slot instead of the usual scrape of its dislodge instead i will write about how i discovered that not all poems need to have a darker undertone to hold meaning instead i will write about how sometimes words eluded me and how i was always afraid of losing my touch until i realized i only wanted yours anyway