White Noise
Not a poem but a misshapen thought.
Fit the box, the mould, fluid like water.
Integrate, calibrate for their liking.
Stay in line, straight, secure, strong.
Walking on a tight rope, don't step out, don't fall… don't cry.
Chaotic, confused and disturbed.
We are all looking for that happy ending where the noise fades and the barriers break.
That one and true love where we can be ourselves, where we can be our ugliest side.
The one where our egos are the center of attention.
We long for a tool that can make that a reality.
Tools look for that too.
There is only so much we can take before we break.
This scares me.
A room where I could be myself.
Where I could yell as loud as I want and let go.
Punch the walls, cry, laugh, sing and dance.
Yell, yell like a wild animal that broke free, as I would never speak again, free of judgement and the fear of what people think, say, mutter, laugh and breath about.
I don't care, I don't wanna know.
Only you.
You.
To die for, to love, to hate, to fight and make love too.
Scared and bare, a volatile relationship bound to break but holding on thinking we might actually make it.
I haven't found that yet, but when I do I think it will hit me like a hurricane, break me, tear into my gut, remind me how it is to be young, soft and shy.
Remind me that there is a reason for all of this.
Remind me that not all smiles are forced.
Leave me and come back, miss me so I can miss you too, break my heart and don't look back, but never leave.
Stay.
Make promises that you can't keep.
I remember once someone said that there isn't anything so bad that you can't make worse.
There is no catharsis.
About the Creator
Ioana Pasca
The soft touch of your skin on mine,
The silent whisper of the night.
I am lost never to be found,
Lost in dim light and soft sound.
There are many ways I wish to forget you
But none of them come to mind.
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