Poetry

I've recently found myself back in my shell

Pretending to be someone I'm not

And I think I know why.

I've pulled back from people 

Only interacting with animals and strangers online 

This is from a much longer story in verse I'm writing, so it's quite out-of-context, but I really liked how this stanza turned out.  Sometimes, like today, just one perfect-seeming part lights up my day.

Two kids

The song

The beat

The rhythm

You know the rhythm, don't you?

Pulling you up

Pulling you to me

Out there

I know it's scary

Couldn't we let go and not care

Just for tonight?

Giddy is the exhilaration

Thinking about you

Getting excited

For what, I don't know

Counting down the days until I can see you again

(Summer is hard)

Reading love stories

Listening to love songs

I cried.

I looked at the photos,

The Polaroids,

And I cried

And cried

And cried.

I couldn't feel anything.

My heart was bleeding

And I couldn't feel it.

I cried

Emotionless

Night fast approaching.

Sitting in chairs looking on at the mound of wood.

An elegant bird rising destined to fall.

Then a light.

Small yet growing fast.

Then in a second the bird catches.

It's always the goodbyes that are hardest

especially when you've gotten so close

after years of distance

it's worst when you don't end up getting to spend the time you wanted to spend with them

I’ve always wondered

What it’s like to be myself

Openly and honest

And not hiding behind bookshelves

Waiting for someone to see

And let me into their heart.

A guy is knocking

i want to go to a place that doesn't exist.

i want to go to a place that will never come.

i want to go to a place that is nowhere.

Or maybe i don't want to go to a place.

Summer always meant clear skies to me,

With a never-ending supply of sunshine,

And a night that would never arrive,

Where time is paused mid-afternoon,

And I'd bask under its rays lying on lush grass,

My neighbor is doing Duolingo across the street,

He’s in his sixties learning a new language

And I’m just eating leftovers, watching him,

Wondering if he’s practicing French for his husband.
 

Card

after card

after card

it keeps going

the stack endless

the family tree sprawling

stretching

growing

by the second.

I have to write it all down