poem #1. breakup
Updated: May 25, 2019
It’s like I was born to be broken up with.
I wear ear plugs on public transport now. In quietude
As I read Sylvia Plath and gently sob on the N207 to Holborn.
Or earlier; In Memorium, a poem I’ve known for years and it still makes me cry.
I’ve shed objects like cocoons, once habitats, now
Only butterflies, the most 'me' available.
Saline solution is perched on my window sill,
My new nipple piercing gets it’s two swabs a day, religiously.
My cardboard box of paper memories is shrunk to travel size.
Only the essence of what’s been remains.
And I am, undoubtedly stronger, more whole.
Pema, you said ‘when pain is the doorway’
It is. Now.