Breakfast And My Ghost Poem by Casse Clark

I sit here again
next to you
at this table that
I have not seen in
these many years
the details just as
I always remembered
them to be
the orange glass
separating our drama
from the table next to us
separating our lives
from all those
drifting around us
that was the beginning
of my expulsion
from childhood

and here we are
again, still here in
this world that you
tried to create for me
and then left me in
like a pretty trophy
to think about the things
that I should have done
and to regret the things
I should not have said
I’ve been here for
so long, awaiting your
return but, now, my
baby, you have gone and
finally, I can see
that the pain I once held
for you, coddled, and kept
alive for you, has turned
to dust in my hands


you wanted to see me
in this place once more
but I had to beg you to
leave me be, and then I
came alone to sit here
next to your ghost
I turn to look at you
one last time, and then
I ask you to please
leave me be
whispering while the
orange glass behind
me turns my skin into
a mosaic of flesh-tones
lines that creep
across my face to
mask the tears that
I refuse to shed
this time

I don’t miss you
love, I don’t need you
love, I no longer
hurt
for
you

I don't kiss you
when I sleep
and I don’t wish you
were here
with
me

I don't think of these
things that used to be
so very dear to me
I don’t dream of your
arms that used to
hold
me

I don’t want you
anymore, I don’t
need you anymore, I
don’t want you
I don’t want your
pain and you can take
this game and find
some other child
to mold into your
ugly version of
womanhood.

I don’t need you
in order to
feel this ache in my heart
I do that just fine
on my own now.