365 Days of Poetry: Day Seventy-Four

This doubt of you
it overtakes my life.
wanting to scream
inside out.
my direction breaking
into shards of discontent.
hoping.
unknowing.
returning.

our love was a compass
and now it lies there
a bloated thing
I am afraid to touch.
your fingers on my skin
a broken reality.
wasted.
inconstant.
bleeding.

the anger blinds you:
to all sense
to all shape.
the words flit and
none stick to the page.
I am useless
a shell:
distended.
shattered.
unwanted.

so quickly we try
to take all back
and dream of what
could be, but I
cannot forget the
words, hatred
seething through
your teeth.
the way is shut.
barred.
jilted.
finished.

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About June Faramore

Writer of fantasy, mainstream, and young adult fiction. Poet and sketcher. Mother. I read a lot and love cheese. Guitar playing singer-songwriter. I also enjoy stepping on the cracks in the sidewalk. View all posts by June Faramore

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