Sometimes it’s hard to write.
To spill the words out.
Sometimes it’s too painful.
Too complicated a feeling to unravel.
Category: Poetry
-
-
It is almost March.
Regrets are piling up.
Where does the time go? -
Today is the first day of the rest of your life.
What if everything changes?
What if nothing does?Life is funny that way.
So mundane and yet so apocalyptic.
We uncover ourselves in the monotonous revealing of time.I’m finding it harder and harder to hold on,
to ignore the absurdity of existence.
How have I loved so many strangers,
and how can they mean everything and nothing to me at the same time?How does anyone do anything at all?
-
I wonder if I am destined for eternal melancholy.
It’s just a thought.
One intimate thought.
It aches and aches and aches inside me. -
The frustration is rooted
at the pit of my stomach.
The weight pools in me,
knowing there is a carelessness
in every touch.It rattles inside me,
the desperation to be seen.
To be loved.
Here. Soon. Please. 