The Empty Room/New Poem (Rough First Draft)

The Empty Room

Our writing is archived on your bedroom walls,

alongside dragons you practised sketching

with multi-coloured gel pens.

 

Your parents weren’t cool with it.

Your mum called my dad who called

my mum who laughed and clapped.

 

Now your mum comes in to study

the love hearts we drew and captioned

with the names of all the boys we fancied.

 

She traces her fingers across

the spiked spines of your dragons.

 

I sit in here and do homework, one ear

always cocked, like I expect to hear the

front door go, and you thunder up the stairs.

 

Like I expect you to call me a dick wad,

throw me a snickers bar, then ask what I got

for the third math equation on the seventh

page in the book.

 

The posters are starting to sag now, and in Tesco

you have been replaced with cars for sale.

 

I close my eyes more often than before.

When I open them after a long time,

daylight is glittery and it takes the clot

of hurt away for a while.

 

All of your social media sites are updated

by everyone but you.

 

I don’t let you room get dusty, and there

is no mention of harvesting your things.

 

I wonder where you are, and if you’re smiling.

I wonder if you’ve found a beautiful freedom.

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