On the edge of an ocean I sit–
soaking up white noise,
into old bones,
too weary for this body.
At your feet I begged,
but only deaf ears
and blind eyes
turned to this broken world–
I still sit in the midst of youth.
I would like to call the period in which I write a “happy medium”
being neither too manic or depressed to find the net of a correct size
to catch the fireflies of thoughts who die out if I think too hard
while I’m extremely happy or on the edge of a cliff I don’t remember climbing
in order to find the correct perspective on my most humbling pursuit
which I never meant to start, I’m still running without meaning
trying to keep my thoughts still, as I’m quaking in the wake of truths
spilt on the counter of youth, caught up in stale beer
which helped to calm the nausea you never told anyone of
except the ex who knew there were twins, however, both ended together.
Now I sit here waiting, hoping for clarity and a dash of depression
As happiness is not a medium to write in.
I miss the sound of her voice and the color of her hair.
I miss the smell of tomatoes ripening on summer vines accompanied by the smooth texture of paper beneath fingertips.
I miss the irony of innocence complete with virginal nightgown and the misconception of a future.
I miss the time before I knew what wrong was, when being meant simply being, not judging every fleeting thought or feeling for what it might or might not be in the grand scheme of things.
I miss the simplicity of seemingly being a young girl taken care of by her care takers, those chosen for the tasks they chose to be chosen for.
I miss being wanted by those beings who were nothing but greedy, needy things that succeeded in nothing but needing.
These are the things I miss most and I feel amiss without being used for something to get somewhere, so maybe my life is beautiful, just where it needs to be, not being abused.
I am a loud hand-talker
With every breath
My face speaks volumes
Over my actual speech–
Wrought with intrepid movement
Stampeding, barely breathing
Caught off guard–
Without a chance
For redeeming untoward favors–
Unwanted, but earned with no effort.
I would like to take a moment
To concern myself with someone else
Selflessly reflecting on their being
Without being overtly intrusive
Which I tend to be–
Delving into the depths
Of unsuspecting characters
Without them noticing
As I’m distracting myself from eye contact–
Which always leads to trouble.