May/June/July || A poem inspired by Dr. Earl Reum's "A person/A paper/A promise"

Once, on a Word document,

She wrote a poem.

And she called it "___ and Dad's haikus"

because that was the name of their creative venture

and that's what it was all about.

And her father smiled as they wrote,

and he wasn't scary to talk to,

And it was printed to stick on the fridge,

And looked at by whoever entered the room.

That was the year they got a cat,

With tiny paws and wide watery eyes,

And she felt at peace.

Once, in her mind,

She wrote thousands of poems.

And she called them all "Why"

because that was the question of her grief

and that's what it was all about.

And that was the year breathing became difficult,

And all she wanted to do was cry,

and her cat was her only comfort,

and she was never at peace again.

Once, on her Notes app,

she wrote a poem.

And she called it "Red"

because that was the colour of her blood,

and that's what it was all about.

And she never let her father see it,

and she posted it

on a blog to rot,

and that was the year she developed acne,

and her grief changed from something dull and lifeless to an acute pain stuck between her ribs again,

and she cried

Silently at night.

Once, on her forearms,

She wrote a poem,

and she called it "Pain"

because that was the name of her vice,

and that's what it was all about.

And she wrapped her arms in bandages,

lying to anyone who asked,

And she screamed loudly of her pain,

All through stupid fucking poems.