Confessional poem - Hannah Gryszka

Despite all of my best efforts, I must admit that I do not like you. From the way your short silver hair seemed to reflect the sands of time to the way your bulging brown orbs reflect on my very own face. I never liked you. You always seemed like a ghost that rests in the walls of every abode I reside in. No exorcist nor purification spell can rid me of the shadow you cast, the darkness you hold, and especially not the pain you have passed onto me. 

No matter how hard I try, no matter how determined I may be, I am always the recipient of second hand information. I am nothing more than a detective within a story that should have always been common knowledge.  

Is it inconsiderate of me to those who are flesh to be so strung up on a ghost only so few actually know? Is this selfish of me? Is it too much to ask for a little bit of personal recognition or is that an impossible feat for the dead? Do you understand how lonely it is to be told by everyone in my life who has once known you that you love me? 

Everyone except you.

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