enough | poem

poetry

Look I used to be self-sabotage today I’m routine.

The vein spike for protein blood check—

before it went another way. I’m not trying to cause an argument over nothing

when I did that (then) results were notches on bedposts

arm scars. I never listen to songs on repeat now, more album than single.

What I felt through years of wandering could move mountains—shatter icebergs.

Once I looked so hard in the mirror, my hazel eyes melted candle wax,

burnt coffee beans kept in a shelf jar. When you quit, shit goes different.

You don’t have to be all apologies if you make sure you come off worse

is no longer a superpower. I watch now—move through crowds unravelling

over everything. There is nothing they can control. It’s okay to love goodbye hard.

I have learnt that big Buddha never smiled, sat cross-legged at his feet

it was the neat row of bamboo fences I admired, way more than bronze.

The night we did it in the bathroom stall was the last promise I broke

about giving myself away like excess loan. Now things are different—

same skin, impulses—just not the same person. I have learnt time is a blanket.

The last letter I sent, they probably kept it. Sometimes—not always

I miss how it felt to roll into bed at six am instead of the rising.

Enough.