Near Light

There are some things I can only say
in the dark, the way light keeps secrets
by swallowing them whole. Mama used
to tell me that to keep another soul
was selfish, even if it meant only keeping
part of them.

Perhaps tenderness was never
supposed to be my birthright.

I am trying to find the in-between
of wanting to run back into the makeshift
temple I have created in your arms and wishing
we never met. I search for exit wounds
when home becomes the familiar taste of honey
and forbidden fruit laced in your skin.

Perhaps you planned a short visit –
which is to say – you never meant to stay.

I forgive you. Even I, who finds comfort
in the shadows, can understand that
I have become a vestigial being. Even I
can understand that perhaps it was my fault
all along for creating a god – one who takes
the shape of a man
– even when the lights flicker back on.

Vivian Lu is a fifteen-year-old high school sophomore from Cherry Hill, New Jersey. Her poetry has been published in -Ology Journal, Best of Sprout, and BioLiterary Journal. In addition, her work has been recognized by the Scholastic Art & Writing Awards and Creative Communications. In her free time, she enjoys studying psychology and trying new flavors of tea.

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One Response to Near Light

  1. Ryan Stone says:

    Stunning! I thoroughly enjoyed this beautiful poem.

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