i can't stop feeling the crumbs between my breasts. i can't
brush away enough to remove every particle,
every bit of it.

i sweep away hairs from my mouth as i eat, but pieces get tangled there anyways;
only sometimes,

because sometimes something gets stuck purposely,
something becomes a mess within a mess
and i can feel it between my fingers as i clasp a strand.

but this isn’t unfamiliar, no

this is self-aware
ness

or something like it,

and i think i am just trying too hard to fit.

i find an envelope in my memory,
stalled there as if it is a ripe pear ready to be plucked.
i find the juices wet the seal
and i think i create another broken piece of art
without being able to smile.

we are the broken
ness.

i won't forget how you only laughed in person with me,
that true laughter.
and how you cried about the loss of your father
while drinking beer outside at night.

now you tell me these were just drunken moments of weakness
because now we only talk about buying jeeps
and video games we don’t play together anymore.

i know i ruin a lot,
the defeatist in me resigning all control
because i know what i did wrong to you.

that doesn’t mean these moments, these strands,
these pieces being plucked...

that doesn’t mean they don’t stand tall against your shoulder on a cold night.

i know they do.

they will.

05/15/2017

Author's Note:

forgive

Posted on 05/15/2017
Copyright © 2025 Ava Blu

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Anita Mac on 07/13/17 at 07:23 PM
This is stunning.