KARMA.

i was only a sentence in the book of your life.

but you were the main character in mine.

- abby

There’s a statue of you in the gardens of my mind.

I look back now and know that younger me is so proud

“can we go back to normal?”

considering my normal has been fainting in the shower, not being able to breathe, a heart rate of 190, social avoidance, and feelings of hopelessness,

no. no, we can not go ‘back to normal’.

…

first

twenty-third 🍁

twenty-eighth

LOVE, DEAR ABBY

“I will never regret you”

“If there’s a sun in my solar system, it’s you.”

- abby

I would rather be hated for who I am than be loved for who I’m not.

WAR.

Three rotations around the sun,

and sometimes I’m still not over it,

I know the war is what I won,

But those battle plans just won’t quit.

I dug many trenches back when fighting,

years later, they aren’t filled,

‘Should I’ve done things different?’ Keeps me awake,

With sleep deprivation, I’m skilled.

I think of who I might have been if you hadn’t happened,

But if not, I wouldn’t have met that man, I wouldn’t have stole his hat and,

Put it on; “combat vet” it read right on brim,

The two of us weren’t so different, we both had wars we tried to win.

But that’s the thing about going to war:

even if you come out on ‘top’,

The ghosts you met will follow you,

The haunting will never stop.

But there’s something nice meeting a veteran,

Literal or not,

He’ll support you unconditionally,

your back he’s always got

And so I bought him flowers,

A simple thought that crossed my mind,

I’ll never forget that smile

When he revealed it was the first time,

That someone gave him something

for his service, not anyone,

The thing is, he’s got no idea

how much for me he’s done.

LOVE, DEAR ABBY

DRAWER.

I get the feeling and a strange sense,

that you’re glad that I escaped, that from there I left.

When our towns daily newspaper had talked about me,

I wonder if you bought that edition to see.

I wonder if somewhere you hide a secret drawer,

where you keep your memories and regrets,

Movie tickets, funeral cards,

newspaper clippings, and cassettes.

Do you go through that drawer while sitting on the couch,

The one my mother designed from the catalog?

That couch that has seen you through three marriages now,

The same one your new wife sits on?

I wonder what the difference between us is,

why we are the way that we are,

We don’t have many similarities;

The contrast is so stark.

Your opportunities were boundless,

You could’ve done anything,

your parents were married and owned their home,

you played sports in the spring.

But me, I didn’t have those privileges,

and it’s all because of you,

my childhood I spent bounced back-and-forth,

you divorced when I was two.

Mom raised me independently,

and independent I was raised to be.

Everything I’ve done is no part thanks to you.

Its all been because of me.

But even all these years later,

I know you’ve watched, and listened to the grapevine.

Even after everything that’s happened,

you’ve been proud of me all this time.

I wonder if someday when you’re gone and when I get that call,

I’ll go over to your place, survey, and start to comb through all,

your personal belongings, prized possessions, and some more,

But I wonder more than anything, if I’ll ever find that drawer…

LOVE, DEAR ABBY