A freedom cry

Do you feel my longing?
I am sure you have forgotten
As if I had slipped out of a chasm
And into the dwelling of my own tears
While you floated away, unaware.
Locked in a prism of yearning,
The spectacle of light keeps me entranced.
But you have moved onto more shiny people
And I am still collecting poems written on walls of glass ceilings, unwilling to shatter
The mirage, the veneer of false possibilities.
It is not your fault you cannot love me.
You have always preferred wildflowers and sunny skies
While I have thought myself less of summer skies but a little more like Spring.
I am nothing like the poems you write
Of bold, intangible, undefeated women
And their intoxicating allure.
I think the best part of knowing you
Was that you helped me heal from things
I feared every day of talking about outloud.
And the worst part was knowing
You would never come close.
Do you hear the violins orchestrating another love ballad?
No, you have not.
This time though I hope you have deaf ears
And feel freedom wedged between the chapterbooks.
I know I am trying to find the purpose nestled in between each volume.

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