My heart is breaking and I’m caught in a questioning with answers I don’t know how to side. Is it tearing apart because of too much, or too little? Is there a third option to admit that it’s both at once, and so this organ is no longer able to play its original tune.
While they say that time is a construct, it’s difficult to think of it that way.
Time zones have a way of dividing everything: geography, space, time, feelings.
While I’m struggling through today, you’re already one foot into tomorrow.
Time zones have a way of making one feel left behind.
— minus seven; one year ago
They chuckle and say, you’re like a fish out of water.
I beg to differ.
I am a fish that doesn’t know how to swim.
Walls have eyes and I have nowhere to go. Man in the mirror, there you stay. Not what I willed, but stuck with you. Dust upon dust upon dust. How long will it take for a flightless bird to fall? One out from the cuckoo’s nest.
Align the stars. Do you see what I see? Do you see me?
Flower on the wall, please continue to stand tall. There’s a light I want to keep by. There is a thudding strange. Does my heart still beat.
You are the monster in the mirror, and it smiles at me. I have a thousand thoughts but none with a key. Where will all the other voices go?
Count with me. Let’s count in reverse: the removing of fingers, the seed-head of a dandelion broken like a blown-up head. Where will this pain lie?
Mankind proud, but small and insignificant in the light of eternity. There is a darkness that no man can hope to destroy.
Name the stars and see if they will do your bid. At the age of the Saturn turn something big is supposed to happen.
There was a post talking about someone being filled with sunshine, and I thought of you. Out of sight, out of mind, they say. But I beg to differ. In this vast digital space, I’m still searching for a ghost. I wish for you a thousand times. You are a sailor, lost in your wandering, and if my pieces could guide you back to the shore, I would do so continually.
Alone. Alone when a glass screen impressed itself between me and others. When thoughts cloud clarity and my mind turns everything into a blur. Who are you, and what have you done?
In dreams, my feet step where I’ve never been before. I am paralysed in the eye of the storm. I see flickering lights. This length reminds me.
This be the feeling for 2018, yet it is no vice. Full credits to Emily Brynes on Instagram (@emilybrynes.poetry).
You say you’re nothing, but the shadow on the ground doesn’t say the same. You take hold of space the way others do, only less proud.
El Roi; the God who sees me.
Here when breath finds itself lost in a crowd, when feet melt into water and fall sideways. Watching these hands fail to grip the balloons of dreams and have them popping in the intensified air. This yarn of thought scrambled, disconsolate, eventually frayed. Crease all the papers into attempted perfect folds, run the life that never is.
Six feet under in the space I’m supposed to call home.
Flower on the wall, grown strange and peculiar. Remember to stand tall, raise the hand of one’s heart, even when it quivers interminably. Speak in words that don’t exist, for more so is none important. The dark and the shadows find shape in gentle light. The hand outstretched that never intrudes the bubble.
I know just the special little something for you, He whispers lovingly.
Look up and know.
El Roi; the God who sees me.
All of this love with no place to go.
Sadness doesn’t need to overwhelm in order to win. All it needs is a little corner, perhaps unused and shabby, a visitor that innocently says I’ll be here for a while, when it plans to set camp and forget where its own home was.