‘Confessions to a ghost’ / poem
In "Confessions to a Ghost," I want to explore the emotional terrain of reconciliation and the weight of unspoken words. Drawing from the experience of reconnecting with an old friend after years apart, the piece reflects on a shared history marked by conflict and resentment. It delves into the complexities of human relationships, illustrating the impact of past grievances that linger in memory. The poem speaks of what remains unsaid, offering a reminder of the people whose lives we may have touched, for better or worse. I wanted the language to remain simple in order to reflect the rawness of the inner monologue at play, capturing the unfiltered thoughts and emotions in their authentic form.
The title confronts the bittersweet reality of moving on while grappling with the ghosts of unresolved feelings and the longing for closure. Personally, "Confessions to a Ghost" served as a cathartic exploration of hurt, regret, and the hope for redemption in the face of pain.
I hope you enjoy reading it!
I have so much more to say
than there is air in my lungs.
I know too many words
that will not be spoken,
in an order that they have never known before.
I wish I could fit them all in,
place them somewhere safe,
and reinscribe their meaning
into something special.
I want to take the words of hate
and twist their letters,
rip apart the e’s and the t’s,
until they have no venom –
only pollen,
used for growth
and for light.
My mouth has grown familiar
to the bitter taste
that has poisoned it,
a mouth that has also known love:
how to give it
and how to receive it
now rots
inside my lips,
hungry for more
of its vile habits.
It pushes love away
more than it captures it.
It traces the lines
of its hate,
echoing the last time
they came flying
from my tongue.
I have tried to stop it,
to catch them as they run,
but I am never successful
in bringing them back.
Sometimes I wish
I could stitch my lips shut
to stop from speaking
altogether.
But then I think of what it used to say,
how it made people feel,
full of warmth
and with purpose.
I am sorry
that my mouth treated you
as though you were nothing more
than the words it created.
I regret their design.
I am tortured by their influence.
I hope that
as they landed on your skin,
they did not make its surface
hard and thick,
but broke apart
and scatter into the air between us.
Yet I know that isn’t true,
because it happened to me.
For where do you think
I got these words from?
They get passed down,
like heirlooms –
a ring that fits on all fingers,
until one day
the chain is broken,
and they learn new importance.
I think that link is you,
because although you are hurt,
your mouth is sweet
and innocent
and full of kindness.
I have so much more to say
to you,
but I have lost my chance,
because my mouth ran away
and made a fool
out of trust.
