Writing For A Past Me, So That She Might Leave In Peace. Poem by Mandy Lee

There are days I write for a past me; a me hiding within this shell beneath a mask; a me that pushes my back against these cavernous wall, hoping, secretly, that they would finally cave in. The death of the person I used to once call me, hiding in there now, might be the best thing to happen yet.

She whispers in her tormented sleep that she's sorry. -For the aches, the pains, the hurt, the loss; that she would take it back if only she could, but hopes nonetheless that the more painful lessons of life have taught me well and remain with me still. She won't ask me to mourn her loss, as much as it hurts her to have her unremembered, but I see it in her eyes and mine that there will be days that I troupe back to pay my respects to this fountain -This fountain that learned to spill blood and sweat and tears amidst guilt, hard work and grit; I will remember it even as it splutters its last.

Perhaps I might consciously learn to forget, but somehow I feel I will spend days waking to find mementos picked up in my half-wandering sleep.