There’s poetry in my next book. I’ve never tried this before, but it’s a new (almost) year. Time for Amy to attempt new things with her writing. Here’s one. To say I’m nervous is an understatement. 🙂



The idea of me was fun

Kept you alternately

Wide awake at night

Or gripping tight to your dreams

Determined to keep sleeping


The idea of me was pretty

A painting in a rainbow of colors

Edged in the deepest black

Because black creates depth

And depth draws you in


The idea of me was exciting

The way your heart raced

And your pulse tripped

And your feet stumbled

When I walked by


The idea of me was hope

A scratch at the back of your mind

That things might one day get better

That you were better than you believed

Because I told you so and I wouldn’t lie


The idea of me was pure

A patch of white snow surrounded by yellow

A sincere compliment in a world of halfhearted likes

The crack in the pavement that you step over so as not to break anything

The split in the sidewalk that sprouts a single flower in winter


But the reality of me


The reality of me was dull

The sand in your eye when you wake up in the morning

A muted shade of beige in a city of red and purple

A knife you use to slash a heart but succeed in causing only a slow bleed

A weed that people pluck and discard

and poison at the root to keep it from coming back


The idea of me

Wasn’t quite what you imagined

At least that’s what I imagine


Because once you discovered the reality of me

You left

I haven’t heard from you since


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