Sad late night poetry

It’s 3:30am and I’m still awake. I wrote a spoken word poem a few minutes ago. It is currently still untitled. Here it is:

I hate the way I feel sometimes. Because I remember a time when I felt just a smidge more whole,

a bit more happy,

a bit more of everything else.

I never took this many trips to the ocean because before, simple words didn’t make me lose my balance.

Now, I feel the salt in my wounds with the rain in my heart mix in my eyes and wash over me like the shower I never wanted.

I want to feel whole again.

I want to feel like all my slices are intact, the empty space in me never existed.

It’s so much easier to get pushed off balance with a hole.

You can sift through the memories, force them through,

yet still be left with nothing as the wind carries them off to another body.

I want to feel happy.

Like truly, utterly happy.

But happiness is a vase.

Once it chips and breaks and loses it’s form,

no matter which way you glue it back together,

it’ll always have cracks.



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