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A poem.

Creative Voices

By Miciah Colquitt / Contributor

So what is it we leave behind 

What is it that is forgotten  

All our memories that we can’t remember  

All the old feelings we can’t quite touch anymore  

Stories Bonded together by those we’ve met in passing 

The short stories and the long combined like puzzle pieces interwoven like strings of thread 

What material are you made of 

What is that sewn in the edge the spine of that beautiful book with a unique design  

How funny I was just a chapter in your book but you were the finale in mine 

But that’s how life works  

Books began and they end but we often don’t go back and when we do we pass over chapters and skip over pages stuck back to back  

My book like others is as unpredictable as they come unless you read the end and back track your way to the front again a story told of mysteries full of memories that I can’t delete but I also can’t see I lift up to touch them but they land just beyond my reach  

How amazing this brain of mine how intricately it is designed how smart it is to know to get rid of those thoughts of mine and those memories when I’m not looking or paying attention  

When I try to bring up that long-lost face and instead my picture comes up blank when did I lose that knowledge when did it lose its place  

And you see them again and recognize immediately it’s them that undeniable scent the feelings they give you as they draw in whether dark or sweet  

Maybe there are some things even my precious brain can’t forget for me 

We will never be able to start completely over because my readers still remember you from chapters before they’re weary now on the edge of their seats they have shown me your true nature now they wait and see if I will fall back into the toxicity of kin and how thick blood runs through our veins but I’m smarter than I was back then when you tried to build me into the robot you wanted 

I think some memories are meant to be forgotten  

Forgotten or forgiven  

Sorry I can’t forget I can’t tear out the pages of my book they’re already sewn in we just need to leave it here  

Ours was nothing but a short story a nightmare a sad tale that happened to be real  

What peace it brings me to know that I’m understood  

That my brain knows the information or feelings I don’t need to harbor but keeps records so that my stories don’t sound the same don’t look the same new experiences and journeys everyday I’m at peace with what I’ve lost so in place I put what I’ve gained but I use both as steppingstones for my goal and prized place  

The goal: to not just be okay to be great to look at myself in the mirror and be proud at what sits in my reflections place 

We had a deal so I know I will make it there okay but to all the forgotten steps I hadn’t numbered individually and kept going my way to all the forgotten short stories and tales that my brain threw away I must bid you Adieu to all the characters with the missing face I must let you go as we each have a journey to face may you hide in his tabernacle and peace fill your days 

Rest in goodness and grace bless you  

Cause he will never forget that face