everything looks different during the day
less shadows, more hope in your blue eyes
mixed with mine –
lush greenery overwhelming ordinary storefronts;
broken trees symbolise
lost connections amidst the worst of times
moisture mostly remained
on the slippery ground beneath me
where quirky instability
gets in my face
requiring answers to questions
that have been asked for a long time
for which I had to find
a tricky way to improvise
and although it doesn’t always look good in my eyes
you could have reversed all the bad luck
crawling at my door
and judging me from
the point of view of an unfulfilled outcome;
when the dust finally began to settle
I looked at myself with external eyes
and it was not a cheerful sight
abused to the extent of not wanting life
in any form from the former shape ;
the more I fight with the shadows that have suddenly stemmed
the less I move forward, and in my case
it’s like leaving the whole world
in a state of inextricable unknown
---
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About the Creator
Mescaline Brisset
if it doesn't come bursting out of you
in spite of everything,
don't do it.
unless it comes unasked out of your
heart and your mind and your mouth
and your gut,
don't do it.
so you want to be a writer? – Charles Bukowski
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making space
Since the only thing that might pull us back up is caring, it only makes sense that here, long after I’ve let my anger born of heartbreak and grief misplace, multiply, misdirect itself, let the enormity of my solitude turn into something I don’t know how to dispute with, something thick and heavy and suffocating, let the coldness thrash and fight under my skin, deeper still, in between the arches of my organs; here where the ground is always close and the fall is easy and I surrender to it often, lie without purpose for hours, it only makes sense that it is here, I decide to show up and surrender to the possibilities of the night. Show up to those who I deserted. Drawn to the sense of accomplishment, something I haven’t felt in a while, to memory of finished dish sending its aroma into the world and with it, wrapping the room with a strong sense of sweet nostalgia, I get up and decide to cook. I pick up my phone, type a message that reads “Dinner at mine @ 8PM, don’t bring anything” and before my courage deserts me again, drop it in our friends’ group chat, the way one would do when diffusing a bomb in the movies: one eye closed, snip at the wire, hoping for the best.
By Mesh Toraskar5 days ago in Feast
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