There is no getting through your pain
There is no END result, no place to “get to”
No getting over it, under it, or around it
Memories are bound to you, inside you
swimming laps in your brain.
You can learn to lob them over a net or two
But they come back
The come to you in that Bee Gee song heard on the radio
The smell of stale cigarette smoke wafting off the dollar store clerk’s clothes
The pinpoint drunken pupils of the neighbor lady who thinks “no one knows”
They sit on your shoulder when you watch YouTube videos about IBC (independent Baptist Cults)
They row into your mouth hitching a ride on the pills you swallow
They scream at you in the mirror when you notice how your face is aging to look
exactly
like
her.
You feel guilty for hating her
You feel angry for not knowing sooner
You feel duped
You will cry a thousand cries
But
There will be NO getting through
There is only learning to float on your back to look towards the sun
-Christina Romeo