in the end, who are we but little women fused and accumulated and ready to snap apart from the whole of ourselves like chocolate squares

by Amanda Pendley

there are envelope poems
fistfuls of you in my hands
blown away only half on purpose
and half by the wind held in and let out like
a child’s emission of defeat from not being
able to hold their breath any longer

I stand empty
breathless
hands limp in a reflected pool of surrender
before the scream comes
the scurrying
the nails carving
scratching out smile lines
and using body as baseball bat
knocking one shin out by blunt force
from the other
all defense mechanisms firing back at the
murderer of good things
at how careless I am
how I never learn

each time I let go
I would break myself to pieces to get it back
to get you back
to have more than the memory stuck to sweaty palms
but you let yourself be carried away in the arms
of the warm green
the thrashing current
purposefully

it was not goodbye
but escape
and when you would grab at my hands
it wasn’t out of love
it was prying the fingers apart
just enough for you to slip through.

 

Artist: Unknown 

Amanda Pendley is a twenty-year-old writer from Kansas City who is currently studying Creative Writing and Publishing at the University of Iowa. She has previously worked as an editor for award winning teen literary magazine Elementia and as the Nonfiction Editor of Ink Lit Mag. She is currently Editor-in-Chief of Ink Lit Mag. Her work has appeared in publications of Ramona Magazine, Crêpe and Penn Literary Magazine, Outrageous Fortune Magazine, and many others. She often finds inspiration in Lorde songs, the wonders of midwestern peculiarities, and by doing the most important thing one can do in the world: listening.

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