Sometimes I lie back and stare at the ceiling and have too many thoughts to hold onto them for very long at all.
Occasionally they escape into real conversations that occur at other times, leaving feelings of remorse and regret to twirl as dance partners in a hectic, stomach-based waltz, their feet to fast to stop for long. I’m told by some people that I have a beautiful heart. That’s not always true.
But there are two sides to beauty as there are two sides to everything in life.
This is not one of those posts with a particular purpose. You should be warned now.
It is one of those posts where thoughts bleed out onto the page with no particular order and no particular reason except that they simply must.
Poetry is my preferred form of thought distribution. Sometimes I can’t sleep at night for all the whirling and waltzing of thoughts in my head, so I have to get up. I take the clipboard I use for story notes, a flash of paper and a pointed pencil. Then I write.
Words wash over me, escaping onto the hot white sand and beaching themselves in delicate formations on my paper, traced over with graphite stillness.
I wrote this poem a short while ago. Some of the sentiments may be a bit confused and angry because I couldn’t sleep, but I think poetry is supposed to be raw emotion so I won’t alter it.
I might as well not exist to you
Didn’t mean to put you on a pedestal
Wanted just to be something to who
Wouldn’t take it as only physical
Or something less than sentimental.
This is that thing called hindsight.
That thing that keeps me awake at night.
I am poring over details.
I am understanding end sales.
Wishing friends weren’t friends
Looking for a means to an ends.
Keep your head above ground.
All the glad faces
Have turned to sad faces.
Leak love anxieties
That giggle in the cracks…
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