My enigma

A Poem by Olivia Martin

I trace my fingers along the words that you’ve written almost as if it’s your skin. I read your feelings, thoughts and words as if they were my last chance at seeing you, knowing you, feeling you, and maybe surviving this cruel fate that I have brought upon myself.

Not even wishing could make those same words I relentlessly search, seeking some sign or meaning, turn into something more physical that I could hold onto, like your teeshirt, the same one I never admitted to growing fond of just because it had touched your skin, but even that crosses my mind, without a thought of the irrelevance of just a tee shirt. Just to see you, just to look into your eyes and wonder about what’s going on in your head.

This is the closure I receive as punishment for my mistake, never having the pleasure of running my fingertips, or even my eyes across you ever again in a physical sense, I get to read your words and know that you wrote them with everything in your magnificent mind, you put every beautiful thought you had possession of into these words, that you have delicately chosen. Not one stanza without a purpose.

This pain is definitely what I deserve for betraying someone like you, someone who deserves more than I have to offer, or will ever have to offer. The ironic part is not that you are perplexed by the mystery of what you are capable of but that you yourself are the puzzling part of the plot, and you have never even realized it.

Perhaps that is the true punishment for my unforgivable deed, I myself have fallen into, and perchance even for, the enigma that is you.

© 2020 Olivia Martin

My Review

Would you like to review this Poem?
Login | Register

Featured Review

John the Baptist

This one is saturated not only by the pain of loss, but also that of guilt. It is easy to surmise the speaker engaged in an indiscretion, but then the next to last paragraph sends a perplexing message. The only thing that seems certain is that the regretting has only begun.