May 25, 2016

If ever we get to a place
Where I’m ready to leave all behind
And for some reason you want me to stay
Like you never did when it mattered

And you sit right there beside me
Holding onto my hand like you should have
All those times I floundered about
Plunging from sky to ground  below

And you’re really looking at me
With those eyes that once adored me
I beg of you
If we get there
Say anything but sorry

If you want to give me one last thing
One last precious thing
That is not your regret

If you ever loved me at all
If you’d have died for me even once
Then before I leave
Answer me this:

“How could you?”

# LettersToMyPlacenta

Made of Sand
Not Dura, but Alaminadura

    One Comment

  • willishalfmungu May 26, 2016

    Reminds me of the poem bitch by Carolyn Kizer

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