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.