i have not written in a while

Ichiko Aoba - Asleep Among Endives

I have not written in a while, I wonder why

the last time I wrote, I wrote about love

or rather I finished what I had written about love

I started the poem back in June

or was it July

or a few months after?

I'm not certain.

When Ruby wrote to me and told me she liked my way of thinking

I was perplexed because my thoughts had only ever existed, danced and pranced behind my eyelids

and suddenly they had transcended into their own beings; like they mattered

and maybe they do, in fact, matter beyond the values I give them

perhaps my thoughts seep out every now and then and people thank or hate me for it

But since then I have lost money, someone stole my phone and I spilt my drink on my laptop

many tears were shed and few were left oblivious to my despair

I went clubbing once and regretted it; I've felt dirty ever since then

I'm upset with a friend and it's been over a month now

and there's a lunatic living above me

I haven't been hugged in a while

nor have I been loved in a while

I have forgotten what it feels like to know

sometimes I yearn for it and then other times I remember my mother

other times I remember the guy who watched the stars and wrote poems for me

then I remind myself to be kinder, if not to myself then to other people

and then I think about all the bad that I've done

none of the good that I've attempted to do could make up for it

it is then when I think of love that I think of my faults,

all the pits and bruises on my skin and all that sag and crease,

so I starve a little, I lose a little, I try and try and try

but at the end of the day, there is someone more and someone lesser,

someone below and someone above and I'm always neither

just halfway, mediocre, the middle child of ironies

Indeed, indeed, after all, I am my mother's daughter.

if someone wants to settle down, they must settle for less, they must settle for me.

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