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You sculpt absence from the
bulbous head
that I once tried to push out of my palms
I turned over the desire
in meager fingertips
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i conquer
everything orbits
my chest to my fingertips, but still,
an instinctual nightmare
it’s too late to wait around for particular
options
it is healthy to reconcile a contentment
without mending, or without owning
ownership can really only exist within the self
this is a how to guide
maybe malleable
but then again
how to’s shouldn’t be malleable
should they?
push things down, in some natural
progression of relational distress
love leaves blueprints, leaves marks
marks in memories,
but goes dormant in the wake
of an outward tragedy
placed upon me and i’m gone
i’m not sorry
sometimes i write about the good of what was had
i used to create a sad reminiscing, a melancholy anti-glorification
maybe it seems callous to be too prideful
but nowadays i
do what is at once the hardest, easiest, and best
weeding out toxicity with a calm detachment
and nothing touches me anymore
