Pictures of us strung together,
on popcorn garlands coast through the day.
“Smile with your teeth;
put your arm around her;
stand like a man;
sit like a girl”
the ones we banded together to rebel against,
as an unified army of two.
Battles upon battles we fought;
you covering the front, me the back.
Now, our golden swords hang in my living room—
a reminder that it was real.
And I sit in front of them—
the garland of pictures,
the blood stained swords tightly strung together.
I sit and sit;
not for what we had
not to be bound so tightly to you,
but for what’s next,
the next page for us.