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
they were quiet
i was taught
how to whisper
7/3/19 I caught myself mid-nostalgia last night
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