A tear squeezed out of my eye before I could catch it
In the palm of my hand
A hand that hasn't been held in a very long time
It's my turn to lay in the dark
Pitch blackness that comforts me more than a lover's voice
All the noises are purposefully silent
Quiet enough for me to hear my own soft and even breathing
Preferring the dark random moments
Allowing me time to restore my missing inner peace
Pure minutes of living between chaos
Nothing's wrong but nothing's particularly right
It's in this space where I'm warm
Lyrics can sweep and lay heavily on top of me
Blue notes can crush my heart
The tears that well up behind my eyes overflow
Breezes are thick with passion
I'm in love with this gaping hole in my universe
A divinely paralleled place
Inspiring beyond any potential comparison
I'm at home here
I am perfectly melancholy
3 comments:
Love it girl. It relaxed me a bit.
THAT. WAS. A. BANGER
I like you
e.
I say this with the utmost honesty: You could write w NY Times best seller. Your imagery is always impressive, and this is coming from a very analytical and very artistically critical, poet.
You could probably even publish your blog and make a killing.
Write, woman! WRITE!!! I know you probably already feel like you've got too many options right now, but you may want to start looking into the different avenues a writer could take. . . like all of them, might be some money out here you're not aware of. Who knows, but I wouldn't be surprised if you've thought of that already.
Peace,
Kep.
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