what it’s like

I feel that absence when I breathe,I feel that absence when you leave,

Like the air has been stolen from my lungs,

Replaced with water, and then wrung.

And that water collects in a pool on the weathered ground,

Mixed with tears, a realization of unspoken fears,

And a heart that no longer pounds.

It used to gallop, it used to leap,

It used to saddle up, it used to keep its beat.

Now it watches the water soak into the cracked up soles of my feet. There is no discreet, or murmur across this street.

Just a sense at rest, and at best, 

That I’m somehow incomplete.

Maybe my soul is vexed wondering what’s next, so I release some text, so that outside holds the hex.

Maybe I’m too open. Maybe not enough. I can only hope when you move on it isn’t rough.

But that’s the tough part though isn’t it. Finding a new normal without the closure from the old. Blocking out the haunting, even when you’re wanting someone to hold. Not calling, not texting, pretending to be interested in the next thing, smiling as though everything is a blessing when you have less sing, less dance, less love, and less of one last chance left before the breath is gone for good. This heart can’t take much more of not being understood. If I could I’d make everything at once be completely known, but I’m a wounded child who’s completely under grown. Over thrown by miscommunication, a denigration of my spirit, a lack in relation, and you’re not even here to hear it. I fear it’s either too late, or else it never was, now there’s ben’s morning yearning, where before there was a buzz. I know I’m learning to stuff that burning deeper down. If I could I wouldn’t even let it keep coming round. But it’s always there. Always has been except in momentous occasions. The hollow, the loss, the wound. A trinity of invasions. I have tasted other, but never enough to remain full. Just like milk from mother you move on to the malnourished dull. I want vibrancy, and comfortable silence. A partnership where no one leads, without even a hint of violence. But I attack you, and you attack me, relationally. For what, wanting to be free? To be heard? To be understood? To be loved? I remain in this cage, mute to your deaf, with nothing left but the shove off from shore unloved, unintended, mind bended, heart broken, awoken from the dream. Being told to let it go and move on, but I can’t seem to play without my team.

About SIDEWAYS EIGHT

Being heard, stirred, and perhaps cured by life's many hidden images and the written-spoken word.
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