Forgetting

A small poem I wrote, largely uneditted, need advice on the structure and editing.

My love is stretched so thin,

Spread so far over this planet that I’m lost in threads and fragments of people I’m desperately trying not to forget.

I feel it in my skin pulled taught over my heart’s futile attempt at tug of war.

In the grieving strain of my tendons

In my sockets separating and my arms unravelling, as did the threads of the borrowed clothes that I’ll never return.

I feel it in my bones as they become too weak to hold it all

They crack and splinter; what was supposed to hold me together is now breaking me apart.

For it has grown too big, spread its wings and flown too far.

I can no longer gather it all up and place it in front of me, because the bodies of the people I’m carrying in my chest cant even fit in the same room.

Still I’d rather my skin stretch and my tendons pull, have my bones turn to dust Than let go.

But I cannot.

Because forgetting isn’t something you do, it’s something that happens to you.

And I ended up weak, with skin sagging and muscles rendered useless.

What once occupied so much space within me is now scattered across something too large for me to wrap my arms around.

What used to fill me and make me whole is what drove me to burst.

And now I’m empty.