Puzzle Pieces+A long P.S.

It is crazy to think 

That people I don’t talk to anymore 

Carry puzzle pieces of that night 

Things I said 

Things I kept

For someone I knew, their memory of my story is pink and yellow 

Someone else might have known there was more I didn’t say

Even now

When I bring it up

I feel 

As if they’re waiting for me to say 

I made it up 

Maybe it’s just me

And my repressed and un-dealt feelings left over

Questions I have for myself 

Why did you go back?




That night doesn’t haunt or replay 

It reminds 

I should be more careful 

Look both ways

Do not be blinded by words drenched and disguised as “like”


Okie! Well I think I’ve grown emotionally drained writing this “series”. Just because it brings up a lot more questions I have for myself. Questions I don’t have answers to. Also because I don’t want to make that night more than it is. It wasn’t that big a deal to me when it happened. Not until #Metoo happened, and I was able to realize that what happened to me has a name. I also found myself trying to explain every detail while writing as to make “my story” clear. But it matter to no one that I make it clear. It was creating a lot of inner turmoil so that’s why I’m posting the last two on the same day. Because for so long I’ve been trying to make it something tangible that I can post and forget. This is way too long. Ya’ll most likely don’t care so. Okie! If you read this thank you!

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