If I Left You My Poem on a Post-It (eBook)
If I l Left You My Poem on a Post-It: Poems & Essays on Legacy by Creative Writing Students at the New York City Lab School for Collaborative Studies contains over forty original works on legacy by Creative Writing students in the graduating class of 2020 & 2021 at the NYC Lab School in Manhattan. The lines from this poem are taken from selections you'll find inside.
I'm running on ice.
And when I'm gone, far away from here and out of reach,
Will you sit and wait just like that?
You wouldn't believe me if I told you how many times I packed my bags
And slipped out.
As the chorus and flanger brought the room to life,
The walls would begin to dance.
No one has become poor by giving.
It's a feeling of being weightless.
The purple sky is my only company.
I don't know how to feel about it.
Would you hide it safely in your notebook among necklaces of words
You would never read again
So we could look at the stars from lifeguard chairs?
Some even stop to look and take pictures
Because maybe we look like true New Yorkers or iconic kids.
Although legacy is something to ideally seek, I find it to be my biggest fear.
All your personal life is being spilled publicly.
The thought of leaving and people thinking I'm someone I'm not terrifies me.
My hands can't grasp the things you will remember.
I can only dance, only cast shadows from the lattices of my fingers,
Flattened into portraits of myself.
If I had 10 minutes left to live my life would not flash before my eyes.
Maybe I could have expressed my appreciation for their presence
Clearer that summer night.
I guess I lost sight of the bigger picture.
I'm afraid I have taken it for granted.
It's going to be time to go and put things in the past.
Remember the cards I wrote you, the hugs I gave you, the trains we rode.
So many people will love you for who you are.
I wish life were just a basketball game,
A forgotten drawer, crushed under the weight of time, dulled under the waves,
A smile I wish I had.
Because yesterday we were kissing on the stairwell
And now I'm writing about leaving.
I don't even remember me.
I'm running out of time.
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