I am constantly reminded
of the post cards that were never sent.
And of all the words that make up
a letter intended for you to find.
Here today, gone tomorrow
as the old adage goes.
Sometimes I feel these words in my bones,
in my truth.
I am here today, but could be gone tomorrow.
Would you miss me?
What memories would you reflect on?
Were the signs always there?
Did you ever think this would be the result?
These are the words that I can’t say out loud.
Sometimes I am in too deep a sea,
that it feels like all I would need to do is let go
and let the waves wash over me, fill my lungs.
Even today, I am not sure who I am,
who I am supposed to be.
I know who I am not.
Is that enough?
About the Creator
B. M. Valdez
Hello! I am a published novel writer (bmvaldez.com). I write LGBTQIA+ characters into many different stories. Posted here are short stories/chapbooks connected to larger projects, writing advice/journal articles, and poetry.
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The Dryads are Calling
They say the forest by Phoenix River sings. Perhaps it is just the wind howling through the leaves, or a particular birdsong. But Percy Fisher knows better; he knows what lies in those woods, and he knows that the forest sings of his demise.
By Leigh Hooperabout 23 hours ago in Fiction
Comments (2)
That sure was deep. Not knowing who we are but knowing who we are not. Very thought provoking. Loved your poem!
Knowing who you are not is a good start to knowing who you are. Well done.