Stuck

Last Friday night, my friend and I went to our first poetry reading at the Urban Juke Joint, it's a once a month get together in NYC. All the performances I was able to catch was utterly amazing. Even though I may not relate to some of the topics, such as slavery, I left pumped with a sort of creative energy. I think the most enriching part of the night was their open forum, where anyone can take the mike and share their views on that night's subject. I learned that I'm not a poet, but I speak poetry. There's a difference.

For the past few months I've been stuck. I couldn't write anything decent probably because I'm not riding on any sort of emotional rollercoaster. I pushed myself yesterday to write this following piece. It's not my usual format of poetry, it's more "spoken-word."

How long has it been since you left me?
I can't recall.
They say that time heals all wounds
well they lied
because they clearly have never been in love.
Oh God, were we in love?
Who knows but we were certainly
tugging on a thread that
would have no doubt unravel into it.

How long has it been since you left me?
Too long.
For awhile I couldn't stop thinking
about you
obsessing
about you
stalking
you on MySpace,
because people from Indiana don't go on Facebook.
So much of my life it took.

Then suddenly I learned to forget.
In almost an instant
you became no one.
I forgot
how great you used to make me feel
how your voice was enough to make me smile
I forgot
all that
and moved on.

Now, after however long
we're talking again.
Yet it's what we don't speak about
that screams bloody murder.
We're not talking about how I live further
than the girl you exchanged me for
We're not talking about how we really feel
in your head I'm still unreal
We're not talking about
all the things driving us mad.

How long has it been since you left me?
It doesn't matter
I'm long gone.