after ‘The L Word’ by Claudia
I was loyal to a lie (a liar). I longed for a dying light; I was leashed into lamenting. The liar said I was luminous and lively and lovely, just not enough to stay in love with. The liar said my time in the library was lame.
I learned how to leave. I left lyrically, luxuriously, laudably. Even the lovable I left. To leave is to lose, to lead astray. Leaving is lazy. I want to listen, to love again.
Lately, I have been more lively. My loudmouth catches on your laugh, and I start to listen. Perhaps writing letters and poems is not such a luckless ladder to climb. Ladybugs land in your hair, and I long to be a lightweight beetle. We are by the lakeside, and I am trying to learn a new lesson. You look like the light of a bedside lamp. I refuse to leave.
Love lasts in me. No matter how many liars landmark my life, I find light in my larynx.
My name is Liberty. I like the letter L and the literary legacy I leave. I love loudly. I listen. I will not leave.
