I am a leftover to you (poem)

I must be a leftover package,
Forgotten to recycle
Remembered to be ripped from the insides- out
To
take its goods
And
toss it to the side.
Like a child in Christmas morning
Feasting like a dog with its bone
Eyes like an owl
Hidden like a clown
a predator with its prey, ready to devour

I must be a leftover package to you.
Ripped from its identity
No name
No address
No history
Nothing to you

I really meant nothing to you,

The day I asked you if you really loved me once
It wasn’t because there were
shadows of love for you still hidden
In my closet
No
In fact I don’t feel anything for you
It was because
You lied
So well, back then.

And still do
You would tell me anything
To taste me again
Just taste me
As if
I were
one of the flavors
You needed to test
To see if you could take me home
To see if I hold some
value in your tongue. 

You would even pretend to be a friend
Like a snake
Ready to bite when least expected.

I must be a leftover package to you
A handed down through generations
Artifact to you,
Ready to be shipped when no longer needed,
Taped down like a mummy,
to hide its broken, 
missing
pieces

I really meant nothing to you.

I must be
a leftover
package
to you


 By Denisse Cotto AKA Poet Nissy





Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

My Funerals with Him's

For some reason I keep dying for men that don’t die for me. First I was dying to meet him, I had already met him, I just didn’t know it was him. Then I was dying to talk to him, dying to find commonalities beyond physicalities, beyond superficial breaths, Then I was dying to exchange numbers without making the entire situation go down hill Didn’t want to seem too desperate, so maybe he can be desperate first? Then I was dying to hear what he likes in a woman, to see if I’m that woman. Then dying to kiss him dying to get his next text, his next call dying to find the perfect outfit he can see me in. I’m dying for the 30 minute train ride to hurry the fuck up cause I need to see him. dying to see if his touch feels like prince charming finally found me outside of fairy tales and novelas. To see if he makes the retina in my eyes degrade and deteriorate, affecting the perception of finding any other male worth my attention. Waiting to see if he finds value in my
Read more

We grew comfortable

Then we stopped counting, Counting how many months we had been happy. Then I started to remember he stopped texting me cute random notes, stopped sounding excited to hear my voice We started to feel comfortable I stopped knowing what it is to have an identity I stopped feeling loved He was too busy I was too. We started to communicate less I started to drown in my depression getting mad at things that didn't matter. We were dying to learn how to balance life and love. We argued to the point we liked to make the other feel pain, We went too far I went too far We were dying We were dying to feel comfort from one another again We were dying to feel alive again We died. We were dying after death We were dying to rise like sphinxes We were dying to live again We were dying to die in each other’s arms. We didn’t know how to keep each other alive anymore So we wanted to be deadly but together,
Read more