Poets logo

Coffee Cups in Windowsills

Unused knowledge of the self

By MutationistPublished 3 years ago 3 min read
Like

Of all the loose change in pockets,

Of all the times the burnt smell of exhaust flooded the back of the bus,

Of all the beds of eager men you slithered into, who made impossible promises that only left you hungry,

Of all the skeletal remains of yourself you boarded into the closet,

Of all the burdens your mother laid heavy on your shoulders,

Of all the visceral lacerations your father unleashed upon your young mind,

Of all the states, cities, highways and by-ways you found yourself traveling along,

You find yourself here; in a small midwestern town you spent half of your life avoiding, yet desperately seeking out.

Of all the truck stop showers you made yourself look presentable in,

Of all the cheap drinks bought for you when thirsty,

Of all the lifetimes you’ve forced yourself to live,

The years of gentleness that have been stripped away from you;

Molding you into some convergence of some bewildered ideology;

You stopped here.

Maybe you needed to catch your breath, maybe you had grown exhausted of running.

The years have not been kind, but regardless move on dismissively against you, tracking your age and ever present fear of paralyzation.

There was a statuette in the garden of your drug-dealers yard, and you’ve always wondered how something so lovely found it’s resting place where only ugly things occur.

You have transformed again, and come to realize that you are now the statuette, growing moss; something once beautiful, decaying restlessly in the ugly place,

Thoughts begin form in favor of fleeing again.

There is no middle ground, the pendulum will swing into chaos or stagnancy.

You are losing control all over again.

But this, this is where you feel at home.

This is where the warm blanket of familiarity is draped over bony shoulders and the heart stops beating for just one sweet, solitary, second.

You catch you breath in the in-between, in the not knowing, in the strangeness you’ve always been a silent and subconscious purveyor of.

How did you let yourself become so tragic?

Has it always ached like this?

Are these brand new nerves growing in the body?

Why does everything you touch make your skin sting?

Through the lens of your child-self you see it more clearly:

The impatience with growing up, the need to be seen, to be heard, to be more than existing.

As a teen, you see yourself standing on the center console of the vehicle hitting 90 down a suburban hillside,

your hormonal frame penetrating through the sunroof,

adoring the newfound feeling of exhilaration.

You felt alive, you’d wondered if you’d ever felt alive before.

There wasn’t room for conversation, just rambunctious screams into the night air.

This feeling and I will live together a few more years, I think.

It has become vital to fall into the void.

We have begun to rely on one an other, feed each other, nourish and devour.

This is the home we have created together, however high the flames of the burning house may be, it has always provided shelter.

With the day-to-day knowns of an average life; I want to bust open with primal fury, escape the confines of my body, and explode back into the air.

I am shedding skins, but delicate pink scars will always remain.

This is painful, but purposeful, I remind myself.

I am looking toward the unknown with feverish desire, and so

Of all the lovers,

Of all the long drives,

Of all the meaningless conversations,

Of all the knowns this life has offered,

Of all the small cups of coffee sitting on windowsills, it is still when I am walking down the unrevealed path that I am home.

surreal poetry
Like

About the Creator

Mutationist

Funny girl writes sad things to ease the existential dread.

Reader insights

Be the first to share your insights about this piece.

How does it work?

Add your insights

Comments

There are no comments for this story

Be the first to respond and start the conversation.

Sign in to comment

    Find us on social media

    Miscellaneous links

    • Explore
    • Contact
    • Privacy Policy
    • Terms of Use
    • Support

    © 2024 Creatd, Inc. All Rights Reserved.