It Never Heard That

I don’t want to remember exactly how I was or who I was before you,
and I know that isn’t what this world wants to hear,
but it never listened to the beat of my broken heart
or caught the pain in my eyes anyway.
It never heard the way I hated myself when dawn hit my window
and sliced its way through the mountains of maybe next time
I won’t hurt myself, but for now just cut these colours
easy enough to taste something less bitter than I am.
It never heard that. It never listened to the way I could gulp and howl
under the light of a full moon, a new moon, of any moon,
of a sick and sculpted summer moon that hung above the grime
I pretended not to notice. It never heard that. It never listened
to my voice calling out from the dark when every last light in me
had been dimmed, it never came to chase the shadows or the monsters
that waited to lunge the second the lights went out.
It was never there to shine hope into my darkened heart or hear the cries
of my soiled soul. It never heard that. I never knew that silence
with you whispered the most extraordinary tales, and sitting
in the way of sunsets with you shifted the ugly inside of me,
and burst beautiful rays into the dark of my eyes.
I don’t want to remember who I was when I was without you,
but I do, and I will, and perhaps remembering how cold it was in the dark
will never let me forget how I can hear the warmth in the light.

© Nicole Lyons 2017

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