I think you found your name at the center and top line of this page
And as much as you loved being the subject
You would not bare (bear) that I wrote it.
So you’ve been erasing yourself,
Fervently rubbing away your name
To remove it from under my hand
From the words that were mine and are now yours.
You also might love the content
The words might move you but you won’t let them have you
You might even hope they will form you as a portrait
Of your most ideal self that you are saving for someone else
And then we come to my name, my signature
The part you cannot fully ignore and aren’t entirely sure what to do with
You fold the page over my name so you don’t see it
But you won’t remove it
It’s the last vestige of me that protects you
from feeling like you crushed me
or ruined my name to those closest to you.
You can look at me favorably and say I was sweet or well intentioned
But someone you could not like enough,
The one you will fondly return to one day in your poor memory
And tell your children about how I loved you and you, in order to
Continue to preserve a version of you I never fully knew,
Will leave out how you all but murdered me from existence.
That’s the crime of poetry
For every one I’ve written for you,
there’s a stack of blank notes left for me
And a string of convenient half-truths
That the ones who’ve never read me have only heard.
*Authors Note- A Poem about being erased from someone’s life.