I'm sorry for the way my brisk stride disturbs the settled atmosphere of the air around me. The air did nothing to deserve that. I felt lost until you found me, then I left before I could find myself. Now there isn't a leaf, blown carelessly onto the pavement, that I couldn't disturb with the weight of my heavy shuffling. How worthy is a master carpenter without a developed taste for art in their work? I'd rather be the architect- at least then you'd be immortalized in my imagination, instead of the cause of momentary lapses in my concentration.
I cannot write any more;
every time my pen
touches paper, it catches fire-
I cannot contain it.
My words glow, then crackle,
then burst alight- for too long
I’ve been riding through this
tunnel, writing, waiting for
I think of new ways
to repackage old statements,
I’m tired of writing and
I’m tired of feeling weightless.
I hate this. I can taste it.
I cannot write any more
since every time I write,
my words protrude from the
hot daggers and knives.
They pierce me like the way
ink penetrates paper.
The fire used to feel warm
until it grew with my words
and cornered me into
needing to be heard;
the fire used to feel warm until
it burned me to my core.
I’m mesmerized by the flames-
my words animated in smoke;
I cannot write any more,
for I’m fearful that I'll choke.
I write to immortalize
such thoughts and feelings,
but the fire has grown-
it now reaches the ceiling.
I cannot write any more,
the fire scorches my hand;
there isn't much more
I could withstand.
I cannot write any more.
If I had a superpower, I would
want to be the ventriloquist of hearts.
I’d want the power to latch onto others and
ail their aching hearts with a tug;
I’d want to mend their cracks with my strings.
I’d fell the greatest tyrants, and court the
purest hearts to my favor.
I’d latch onto my own, but with chains
instead of thin, frail, fragile strings;
I’d cover my heart with chains so I
could feel every palpitation that breathes
life into my vessels.
I would protect my heart with those chains
and it would be impenetrable- a
fortress of contentment in solitude,
a beacon of love that I would savor all
Take me back in time to the place my forefathers used to visit; the waterfall they’d rest at for peace, or the forest spot between the trees.
Take me back in time to a place where I was too at peace- before the vicious tides of fate increased- take me back before my fate ceases.
But if I can’t go back I may as well take a forward step- I’ll draw my strength from great depths; I’ll draw my strength from inside like drawing blood- I’ll draw my strength outside like people are drawn on a beautiful, hot summer day.
I’ve tried counting breaths and sensing my surroundings- perhaps I’m trying all the wrong things.
All I know is I must keep moving forward- all I know is this strength is growing.
I’m trained for this after so many years; my strength lies in facing my fears- I’ll have to face the man in the mirror.