i want you guys to read this because of reasons.

"Myth" - Natasha Trethewey
(which means this isn't my poem and she's much cooler than me. like, poet laureate cool.)


I was asleep while you were dying.
It's as if you slipped through some rift, a hollow
I make between my slumber and my waking,

the Erebus I keep you in, still trying
not to let go. You'll be dead again tomorrow,
but in dreams you live. So I try taking

you back into morning. Sleep-heavy, turning,
my eyes open, I find you do not follow.
Again and again, this constant forsaking.

*

Again and again, this constant forsaking:
my eyes open, I find you do not follow.
You back into morning, sleep-heavy, turning.

But in dreams you live. So I try taking,
not to let go. You'll be dead again tomorrow.
The Erebus I keep you in - still, trying -

I make between my slumber and my waking.
It's as if you slipped through some rift, a hollow.
I was asleep while you were dying.

cyclical

my bones felt like glass,
but they haven't broken yet,

and
her eyes are growing
and shrinking
along with the moon

and
her lungs are growing
and shrinking
along with the moon

and
her faith is growing
and shrinking
along with the moon

and
my bones are made of plastic.

i can beat
and
i can breathe

while she grows
and shrinks
along with the moon.

she thinks her bones are made of glass
and she thinks she is the moon,
but she hasn't broken yet.

i haven't broken yet.


--erin