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    Just a Box of Souvenirs
    Just a Box of Souvenirs
    Just a Box of Souvenirs
    Ebook84 pages30 minutes

    Just a Box of Souvenirs

    By Katreena Dayacap

    ()

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    About this ebook

    This book came together by accident, in all honesty. The only way I know how to savor happy moments Id love to keep forever is to write. I write about the heartbreak as if that person is in front of me and Im given a chance to say exactly what the betrayal he caused did to me. I write for the times I had no words to express the immensity of happiness I felt in love. I write for the darkness that made me stronger.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherAuthorHouse
    Release dateApr 23, 2016
    ISBN9781524605438
    Just a Box of Souvenirs
    Author

    Katreena Dayacap

    Katreena has been writing poetry for about sixteen years already, and she’s been doing a lot of open mike to spoken word poetry. She happily lives in Rhode Island.

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      Book preview

      Just a Box of Souvenirs - Katreena Dayacap

      A beat

      Can I follow you around

      And pursue your words?

      Cling to them,

      As if they were your last breath

      Without ever speaking.

      Can I admire you from Afar?

      Or maybe, just linger nearby.

      Enough to be contagious,

      But not close enough to catch.

      Settle within your cross hairs

      And target insight.

      I want to find myself,

      Rooted under your flesh.

      So I can cultivate,

      And multiply,

      Then brood.

      Upon the darkness in your eyes,

      I am compelled to oblige

      I revisit your heart from time to time.

      As faint as it may seem

      Deep within I find,

      It still has a beat.

      And possibly.

      It’s for me.

      39009.png

      If these walls could talk

      Part 1.

      If these walls could talk

      They would speak of

      morning’s sun blanketing sleeping bodies,

      breakfast in bed,

      And a love that swore it had no end.

      They would tell of midnight dances,

      Sade’s serenades,

      And you and I,

      Hugging each other with our laughter.

      If these walls spoke the truth,

      They would tell of your arm

      Arched over my back,

      Curled like a question mark around my silence.

      They would betray the secrets of sleepless nights

      Of my pacing feet wearing grooves into the floor.

      They would sob with the images

      That covered in their corners.

      Your wild eyes, and sweaty brow.

      Heavy hands and painful sounds that could never be forgotten.

      They would not hide the truth

      Behind a broken smile

      Or pack it into the backs of closets

      Amidst boxes and winter coats,

      only to be brought out when the weather turns cold.

      If these walls could talk,

      They would remind me of our story

      So I could remember

      How to make it end.

      39009.png

      If these walls could talk.

      Part II

      This is a broken home

      With windows and locked doors

      Filled with ghost shadows and echoed voices.

      Your face,

      Absent from the picture frames

      Yet still I see you

      In the dust that lines their edges.

      Your scent in my sheets

      Your footsteps in the hall

      I have scrubbed my skin raw

      A thousand times

      But find you still embedded in my pores.

      Heart tomb in my chest

      I have left you here to die.

      Bartered emotion for sanity

      And prayed for nights

      When your face would no longer line the backs of eyelids.

      There is no breath here.

      No air.

      I choke on the memory of you.

      Swallow words and speak in silence.

      There is nothing more to say,

      Nothing left to give.

      You are a cave filled up with parts of me

      That I

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