Dark Matter

If we met tomorrow,

what would I say,

what would you?

I’ve thought it over,

over and over,

over so, now I don’t know.

Would I tell you I missed you,

missed you when there was nothing to miss,

missed you when you didn’t exist?

Or was it the ideal of you?

The adventurous “if”

the wonderment of “when”

the possibilities.

Like a love lost,

I missed what could have been.

Would I tell you I felt denied



shunned left and shut out.

Would I tell you how HE took your place?

And how

nothing you could ever do

could reclaim it as yours?

Would I tell you that I’m angry?

Angry you let them define you,

define ME.

Hurt me,

And neglect me.

Collateral damage but damage just the same.

Angry you gave up.

Gave up on you,

on family,

on ME.

Would I tell you that none of it even matters anymore?

(Does it?)

That you’re just too late.

(Are you?)

And that your influence as well as theirs is powerless.

(Is it?)

Because I’m FREE.

But then again,

(Am I?)

I sure don’t seem to be.

And, at the sight of a strange face, would it all rush back?

And matter.

Matter like I was 12 years old,

convincing myself that

if I just did little better

you’d be there,

I did.

You weren’t.

Matter like the light I’d prayed for,

like a lifetime of anticipation,

like constant disappointment,

like a jaded and cynical vision


Will it all come flooding back,

And matter?

Matter like a missing chapter,

those alternate realities, given new life:

Your better family,

Your other wife,

your better life,

Without me.

Diluted memories,

Bedtime stories,

Daddy, tell me the one where I ran you off again?

Would I give you a tour of the world you placed atop my shoulder that blames me?

Would I tell you how hopelessly I tried to grasp control

Would I tell you how I was silenced and it burned hotter deep within

How the silence cracked me

hardened me

My heart

Thickened my skin but scarred my spirit.

still kindling

A wound I guess I’ve still not mended

But is it?

Will I ever even know

Will you?




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