That letter from That girl

From whatever distant island you're

viewing me from today:

I have conquests on nations.


But you can't see that through a lens,

or a message,

or That letter I never replied to 


There is no lens here:

it's raw and ugly,

and I am raw and ugly.


You couldn't unwrap a bandaid,

swallow your pride and spit it out,

or call a doctor.


Even on paper:

There is no forgetting, but

There is moving on.


Your dad moved out of your old house,

you have no bed anymore,

you don't have me to lay in it either.


I am not That girl,

and you will no longer claim my name.


This poem is about: 


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