you don’t deserve a poem

by sarahbeth726

January 28, 2018

Dear ghost,

I think I should write a poem about you,

the only problem is that I don’t know how.

I’ve read poetry that’s real and raw and red and rigid

and I think I might be afraid of poetry and those who write it,

but there’s nothing I’m more afraid of than you

so this should be so easy.

If you look at a cracked piece of marble,

you can see just where it first began to shatter.

I think that’s how it was with you, my lost one,

except I’ve never looked close enough

to see which fracture came first.

How about the one that came when I was thirteen?

You probably don’t remember that night,

and to be honest, I wish I didn’t either

but your words will never leave me, the ones

you thought were helpful.

You told me that I was weak, remember?

And I was only thirteen, remember?

Or how about that time when I shared my headphones with you?

That was a sacred right, you know.

You asked me how I could stand the sounds of boring music,

which is funny because didn’t I see you at a musical last night?

And weren’t you in a musical every year,

and didn’t I pay to see them?

Did you know that I hate the sounds of overtures now

and that I left during intermission?

Or what about when I had my first job?

And you sent your application in right after,

my God it was just like school again,

because all I heard about from then was your beauty.

I guess the reason I told you

that your department was for the pretty ones and mine was for the rest

was that I wanted you to disagree.

But I was stupid for thinking that, wasn’t I?

Because all you did was smile, didn’t you?

And did you know that I see movies at the other theater now?

Or (here’s a great one) when I wanted to be vice president?

That club was all I cared about, my ghost,

and I know you knew that.

You put your name in, last minute of course,

and before I knew it,

I was secretary and you were vice president.

That’s the first time I confronted you, wasn’t it?

The first time I didn’t absolutely worship you, right?

And you didn’t know just what to do, did you? I know,

because your apology was scattered and brittle

and even though it snapped the moment I held it,

I forgave you. I didn’t even know why.

I quit that club that very year,

and I packed up my trophies that night.

Here’s the one that did us in, you know what’s coming right?

When I broke up with him, but I cried to you

because I didn’t love him like that, remember?

But there was still love there and you knew that, you knew that, you knew that.

You even told me that he cheated on me, but afterwards of course.

And if you had to be with him, let’s say there was some invisible force,

why oh why did you tell me that?

And why did you have to laugh?

Did you know that I couldn’t sleep that night?

And did you know that while I was deprived of dreams and aching,

I finally realized who you were?

I knew you then, my thief. I knew that it was over.

I tell this to people and it comes across as a joke,

like a bit that a stand-up comic would do to warm up the crowd

(everyone has a crazy ex, right? I have a crazy ex-best friend,

does that count?)

But people don’t know that you aren’t even crazy,

that you knew what you were doing.

And people never know how much you killed me that night,

and of course no one knows about every little stabbing before it.

Do you even know?

You know, I wish I wasn’t afraid of you.

Sometimes, I even think I’m not,

but then I saw you last night (I’ve never seen your hair like that before)

and everything was back. I still check your twitter sometimes,

I still let you see mine. I think tonight I’ll end that, though.

It’s time to say goodbye.

Heartbreak isn’t any of the boys I’ve kissed, no,

heartbreak is you.

I guess this isn’t a poem.

It doesn’t rhyme and it lacks a rhythm.

I just needed to say these things,

to make this list of grievances

even if I cannot strangle them into meter

Maybe that’s for the best, huh?

Because, if I’m being honest, thief,

you don’t deserve a poem.

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