Because there’s yes,
and there’s no, and
then there’s that
hollow place between them where
the lack of an
keeps leaving me distraught,
keeps pointing out
things to me
I’d rather not remember

like how your hair smelled
that day I broke your heart.

I wasn’t always this
confused, you know.
There was a point where
I found comfort
in black
and white,
solace in wrong
and right. But it doesn’t
always work that way,
does it darling?
    I’m in the grey.
Different shade each
and my actions?
All I know is that
I keep swaying back
and forth between
what the devil whispers
into my ears
and what lies inside
my skull, but I’m reaching a point
where both entities are starting
to agree with one another.

And I will beg of you to go
the more I need you to stay,
because I’m trying not
to need so much.


4 thoughts on “Grey

  1. How did her hair smell the day you broke her heart? And how did you smell it? Was it from across the room? Were you standing stiff, ten paces apart? Or were you in each other’s arms, tangled, suffocating, confused?

    I like the concept of the poem but I’d like to see more details that would personalize it: what did the devil whisper? What are the lies? How did you beg her?

    As for the distribution, it’s magical; so is your choice of words. You are a brilliant writer and I’d love to see more from you.

  2. Confused, churning internal conflict, suspended
    You need space to get away and a new perspective.

    We have to fix a reference point, an anchor, from where you view the universe around you.

    I see good tide ahead for you sister :)

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