Apr 18

Six feet is only space

Six feet is only space, but
I'm tired of holding the people that I love at an arm's length.
I’m giving them the oxygen that they need.
It’s so scarce right now in our crowded homes.
At least I have a home.
They're slipping away.

I've taken up running.
Today I wished that I was flying.
That I would go, and never stop.
My breathing was ragged, as I fought for air.
It reminded me of the people who have it 
so much worse than I do.
I pushed myself harder.

I keep looking for somewhere.
Anywhere to sink underwater and
scream.
But, this is running.
The pounding is not soothing, nor steady.
My ankles have been hurting.
I miss the pool.

I never thought of caged birds as safe before.

Airplanes are still flying, though nobody cares.
I find my fingers poised above the keys of my computer,
looking for tickets to glass half full half empty
planes.
Far away places feel closer than ever,
ever-present in my mind.
They have never been farther.
And of course
I know this.
But, what if?

Our government is a joke.

I write because words spill better
than tears down cheeks.
I am one of the lucky ones.

I am one of the lucky ones.

I am not losing my mind.
I am not the red that I’m painting with.
Spilling angry ink across the page,
staining something so clean
is the way that I fight
from six feet apart.
I will adapt.
We will overcome.