I miss her

can be many things its all up to you and your perspective

I miss her.
I known her since I was in the edge of my existence something I carried into this world that slowly worn out, less persistent.
I missed her.
Again and again as I grew older and more weight was put upon my shoulders I became distant as if I didn’t know her, when the rest of the world pretended to hold her.
I lived her
Only for what seemed like a century ago a blissfulness that filled the rest of my soul that invaded my mind more than welcoming into the core of another reality, my other world.
I held her
Only for what seemed like ions ago in my stilled mind I wouldn’t dream of letting her go but anything else that blocked me from her I would let it flow away with my shallow breath to my other world
I felt her
Slowly and with such great care her ghost like fingers would gently move me unaware of the time, unaware of the place, not to care of which profound thought she found me in what state,
she made me still
I felt her
Slowly and with such great care her determination to me, I restless and fair, she will fight with the tribulations lurking about every corner of my crowded mind fighting so
she can get me still
I loathed her
She may have loved me too much, invading my body, my mind too much, in the most unwelcoming times it was tough, to get her to leave to send her a hunch of what I needed for once, space
I loathed her
She may have scorned me as much, when I dismissed her from my mind she may have loathed me enough to combine my woes and fears and corrupt the bliss, to pain and regret of moments passed I have had enough.
I know her
We may have fought once side by side and even against each other when she would hide and abruptly return but just to pry in the deepest darkest part of my mind
I know her
We may have once heard the same lullaby but now all that she sings are the tunes of disregard and her scornful pride never again showing me the kindness only just to hide and unleash the worst in my mind
Beware
She is dressed in the gentle smell of calming lavender, fashioned into the portal to your world of innocence and adventure, designed to calm the most restless in the most darkest rooms
Beware
For she may seem dedicated to you, a blessing to have for you, a fighter to fight for you, but she may turn your back on you, when you need her most she will turn on you.
She goes by many names, but to me she is sleep, beware I knew her

Reviews

[Richard🖌]

To begin, this is a narrative/commentary work, rather than a poem, and having said that, a very well-written piece, though rather too vague in whom "She" is, a ghost, a troublesome friend, a lover, a fantasy, something, someone else? It's too uncertain in its complexity and facets to allow the familiarity the reader needs to identify with, and leaves one anticipating knowing in the end, but it never comes, which (for me) is a letdown, but it has so very much potential, if properly set into a proper Free Verse.
Arranging this work into Free Verse form will allow for a much easier read and hold the reader's interest all the way through, as the very lonnng lines served to drag-on, losing the moment (for me) in several places throughout.
Still, I enjoyed your word choices, how you formed your thoughts, emotions, mystery, if a bit odd in phraseology … yet, poetic voice is needed to make this the virtual masterpiece I think it deserves to be.

Take the time to rework this monumental composition into poetic form, and you'll have a piece to be proud of. If you like my help, I am always around. : )
Thank you, Dear Poetess, for sharing your wonderfully-creative mind and for allowing me to offer my own thoughts, which I hope prove helpful … smiles 'n hugs! ⁓ Richard

[Bare trees]

~ She sounds like a complicated woman to me. You have a good knack for detail. This is very interesting. Welcome to WC. :) ~

[the quiet one]

Thank you and I said "she" because what I am describing feels like she would be a woman being complicated as such, but I wrote about sleep how I cant get very much sleep lately and at the end I was going to say "her name is sleep," but I thought that it should be anything to the reader you know? Poetry is freedom in a way to the writer and the reader
Thank you I love this cyber café :D