For years, I saw a local poet had graffitied a utility box in my neighborhood with her poem.
Every time I saw it, I would imagine what a response would look like from the lover the piece was meant for.
Disclaimer: The poem isn’t meant to ‘diss’ the original author. It was merely a prompt and that’s where the poem wanted to go. Tru.th_, I respect your work and admire how you share your poetry across Los Angeles.
Would love to collab with you?
Why.
Are.
You.
Speaking like this?
Of course, you’ve always held your tongue,
so this staccato is no surprise.
And while I did rehearse my words,
you broadcast yours to foreign eyes.
Garnishing these vacant boxes
You painted words you never spoke.
How dare you try to make me guilty
For effort you could not evoke?
You wear your trauma on your sleeve
for all the world to stare,
never wanting love I offered
never knowing that I cared.
You think yourself so wise and somber
your words are hollow and erratic.
You swear you have a dreamer’s heart.
Your dreams are squandered and sporadic.
Here’s my side, to your so called truth.
I said those words a thousand times,
and every time the words crept out,
were meant for you, line by line.
A thousand lives I’ve loved your love,
a feeling ancient and devout,
my spirit loves you, after death.
Enough to lose this final bout.
I see our truth, this incarnation
was one born premature.
Our love devolved to mere attraction
Without its deep allure.
Your words are jagged, an awkward fit.
I hope the next life grants you wit.
Soul on Fire 