Duality | Poetry Breakdown

The bright and welcoming scent of a blossoming honeysuckle bush
brings me back to joyous summers of running wildly, dancing hair.
	But when the flowers fall, become trampled – 
	as they rot away creating a sore drunken stench that’s almost nauseating
	especially when accompanied with the metallic scent of blood,
	wincing after a scraped knee. 

The chatter of butter bubbling in a pan – 
a toasty aroma that makes my mouth instantly water. 
An afternoon snack, a loving gesture like a tight embrace and 
the words, welcome home. I’ve missed you.
	But when the smoke rises from the blackening butter,
	voices escalating with pointing fingers and teary eyes. 
	The meal grows cold as the sun dips beyond the horizon –
	a shroud of darkness with no intention of turning on the lights. 

The woodiness of a pencil as it’s ground to a point in preparation for an exam. 
Lining them up parallel to the paper so they won’t roll off – 
am I nervous from the lack of preparation or 
am I spilling with information?
But when the lingering wood coats my sweaty palms,
staring in disbelief at the multitude of angry red marks –
a night of wasted efforts. 

I forget.
I can remember
my sweet and sour.
I take and keep precious memories, lessons learned.