you can’t curb stomp my magic

even with your coldest, most impersonal
letter;
and i don’t know what the point of it
was other than to hurt me—

now every fond memory seems
to haunt me, taunt me;

smile in my face
with the ghost of everything
our friendship once was—

a sisterhood i thought would endure
the test of time,

you were the first to accept me
as my authentic self fully
so it stings a bit to think that you no
longer have a fondness in your
heart for me;

just makes me wish i cared less—

but don’t worry, your lack of response
to anything i have to say is making
it easier for me to disconnect and once you
lose me fully you will find you have no
way of gaining this moonstone back—

should’ve appreciated my light
when i was here.

Linda M. Crate (she/her) is a Pennsylvanian writer whose poetry, short stories, articles, and reviews have been published in a myriad of magazines both online and in print. She has fifteen published chapbooks, the latest being: not your piñata (Alien Buddha Publishing, June 2025).