Dear Me

Hey Just writing to tell you I miss you.I miss you so much. Everything about you From the way you used to laugh all the way down to the way you used to cry.Whether they were alligator tears or the tears shed after you lost the things that meant the most to you,At least you knew the reason why they fell.Now I don't even notice when they shed from my lids until I feel them fall on my ebony skin. The way you used to care,When your heart was three sizes larger.And no matter how wrong those around you were,You were willing to give second, third, fourth and fifth chances.It took a lot for you to really hate. A lot. These days it's hard to know what's real anymore.Everything around me was so artificial I felt as if all I could do was slowly do the same. It has it's days where everything is great but then the really low days follow. Not like the ones you used to have where you'd be good after the span of ten minutes,But low enough to the point where I keep my lighter on me at all times.To the point where the same thing that killed King will probably be my own demise.You'd think I know better right?But things change, people change, I've changed. But I miss every little thing about you. Because now every time that I laugh, I make sure it's extra loud so I can convince myself as well as others that I'm truly happy.Or when I'm in certain places or with certain people I can't be too loud or I'll be perceived as unacceptable or ratchet in society's eyes. I have to watch how open I let myself be to others because I don't know how long they'll stick around or what they're really all about. The whole chance thing doesn't quite cut it with me like it used to. I still love the music though.I still manage to sing every song and jam to every tune. The music keeps me sane. No matter how hard I tried to run from it, it trails behind me wherever I go. I guess it's true when they say it lives forever. It's kinda like that little lamb that always trailed Mary. No matter where I seem to go, it follows. That will never change. What else do I miss? The innocence. The naive outlook you had on the world. The way you managed to attempt to look at the bright side no matter what. The optimism made me sick, but it was refreshing. Water to the dehydrated. Air to the polluted. Wealth to the destitute. You get my drift. My mind seems to drift sometimes too. That might just come with age. Is uncertainty included in the package or is it just my train of thought derailing? I can never really seem to tell. I hope my thoughts don't escape the mental prison I've created for them. It's hard to keep track of the key. In retrospect, I don't remember having one made.  I miss telling you I love you.Scratch that, I miss telling you I love you without having to say I love youor having to consistently remind myself to love myself.Because every day I'm told to do the complete opposite by everything and everyone. I miss being you or rather just having you be me,However that shit goes.Or went if you want to get political about the past tense, I miss how much you used to give a damn.You put your heart into everything you used to do.I lost the kindle, the fire, the passion, the spark.You wouldn't happen to remember where I left it, would you? Now I'm relying on entities to spark ideas up for me.So much to the point I don't know if my ideas are even my own. Must be buried in the sand somewhere. Hope I can find it. Can I compare thee to a cold winter's night?Which is basically comparing me, myself, and ITo these nights of which I speak.Like 40 belowMick said now she got so cold.Is it ironic that I'm freezing?In my physical and emotion,I would shed a tear but I've been drinking so much water that they're frozen. People say that I've changed.I don't argue with them.Some things for the better,mostly for the worst.Hopefully the price that was paid is enough to save my soul. It's crazy.Solo dolo it seems because I'm ripping at the seamsCan you sew me together?Can you save me? I love you,I need you,I miss you. Because the last time I remebered,I think I left you in December.But it feel like February on a hitta,how she got so cold,now she got so cold. -MN

This poem is about: 
Me
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