sometimes i write just to write sometimes

i feel everything and nothing i

wish I could stop the sound of static in my head

like the prayers we recited

in church the prayers i read before falling

asleep

i wish

they were quiet

i wish

i was taught

how to whisper

 
 
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7/3/19 I caught myself mid-nostalgia last night

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I caught myself mid-nostalgia last night, thinking about the hours spent imagining what it would be like to live a life worth dreaming about. My room smelt like oranges and my bed like chlorine, and while I haven’t been alone in a while I felt like nothing had changed. 

I watched my rocking chair move like the arm of a clock, following the sunlight from my window until there was none left to read. I saw my hand fill with ink splotches, notes of thoughts I was too lazy to write on paper but found important enough to remember in the dark. 

Everything seemed like a poem when the lights were out.

I watched myself spread out on my maybe-white-one-day carpet, records spinning what I had then assumed was a ballad of love, what I now know to be a confession of loneliness. Fingers tracing out circles on my stomach; I wish I knew what I was thinking. I wish I could go back and rewrite the words that had become a mantra. As if all it took was reorganization to turn longing into solace. 

I’d tell myself I’d be free.

My body feels like lukewarm orange juice


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