Alexandra Lang is a 22 year old performer currently traveling the world, writing about her time around the universe.
A spotlight to the night when my body became confetti under your touch.
A spotlight to the day, four years later, when I realized you still say hello like that.
A spotlight to the night the moon sat in the sky with a crooked grin, watching me think of you.
A spotlight to the moment I had to lay the box I was trapped in flat, and realize you were not anything more than a boy with a purpose of infatuation.
You learned to say hello like you already know how i’m going to say it back.
You, with your tinsel for a tongue, making every word into a manipulative glimmer.
Your whimsical mind turning easy thoughts into fluid stone.
Tell me how you ever grew to believe that you could care for anything other than your own existence.
I was so close to reaching a form of solidarity, but I chose to do nothing about it.
Instead, I swore I would allow dance parties be the hospitals I healed in, and still, I found myself in the waiting room writing about you.
Not even an IV drip full of rhythms.
Just your name in my mind, and a pen in my hand.
There are no songs loud enough to drown out the thought of your broken voice telling me that there’s just something missing.
There are no dance floors vast enough to fit my soul.
There are no pages left to write about you.
And there is no you to write about anymore.
© 2019 Xandra Lang
Lorna Lamon on July 28, 2019:
There is a sense of sadness and also survival in this evocative poem.
Kathy Henderson from Pa on July 27, 2019:
Wow, this is everything. You have put in words the conversations of at least three new high school graduated girls I have spoken with this past week. Perhaps it is because of summer and the soon to be heading off to college season. These boys leaving broken hearts with heads held high in their wake — beautiful poem and depiction of the stark reality of casualty to a relationship.