11.17 Daily Poem Challenge #27

I am using the daily prompts provided on Robert Lee Brewer’s Poetic Asides blog on writersdigest.com


PREMONITIONS OF CONVERSATIONS WE MIGHT HAVE SOMEDAY, LONG AFTER I AM BORN



Someday I will tell you that I am scared

of skeletons and the dark and the floppy clown
on the wall of my room, hanged by a loop in its neck.

Someday I will tell you that some boys
made fun of my glasses, my frizzed out hair
and my high spelling grade.

Someday I will tell you that I want to make art
because something happens when you
join ephemera and eternity.

Someday I will tell you that I want to play guitar
and grow my hair long and go on tour
to get away from myself.

Someday I will tell you that I can’t go back to school
because of the beatings and the grief
of some things I will tell you later on.

Someday I will tell you that I am ready to go back to school
having learned to love others a little more
and that compassion is the most human thing.

Someday I will tell you that I like a girl
and she will give me my name and tell you what dog to get
for the times when you will feel most alone.

Someday I will tell you that I am sick
and I don’t know what it is or why
but my body burns and I am scared to die younger than 21.

Someday I will tell you that I met a woman
and I want to marry her because she makes me feel
like I am not so strange to myself.

Someday I will tell you that I am leaving home
because I think I may be able to see the future
better from a distance.

Someday I will tell you that we are trying,
spending all our money and patience
but that it doesn’t look good for grandchildren.

Someday I will tell you that she is leaving me
for another woman and I will break
and stop telling you things.

Someday I will tell you that I am not safe alone
anymore and that I need to come back home
to escape the dark and self-harming.

Someday I will tell you that I am too scared
to tell you what I have been running from
since I was young.

Someday I will tell you that I am your daughter
and always have been, but never had the words
to know it is possible to live up to other than expectations.

Someday I will tell you the name she gave me,
and ask you to remember me as “she” when you
tell stories or text the family to make plans.

Someday I will tell you that my body is changing,
that you will soon feel breasts pressed against you
when we embrace, if you still will hold me close.

Someday I will tell you that I am happier, and what saved me
when dying seemed like the thing to do,
was every time you told me, “I believe you.”

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