Today I am out of sorts, my mind is spinning on a reel and my projector isn't quite working. I'll look outside and look back again at myself, not happy with my body, mind, face. Clearly un settled in my state of being.
My skin feels old and crumpled, when I speak I have the taste of ash stuck under my tongue and between my teeth. I'll stand and look out as the sun washes over the pavement. I'll sigh and jog as many blocks as my legs will carry me, go to the gym and eat right- I'm in the motions of what used to make me happy, and now I am unhappy. I feel like candy without its flavor. The summer without its heat and sun.
I want to feel refreshed, with my mind at easy and my shoulders uninfluenced. But I've never really been welcome into my skin. I'm a walking nervous wreck.
I'm about to snap and my words won't even warn you, they'll tell you I'm just fine. I'm a carefree little girl with amateur words who can't get her point across. Spent her days getting her jeans caught in bicycle chains, and pretending to inhale on ciggaratte smoke.
I don't feel anything anymore and my arms and fingers weight me down like lead-
Can a writer fall out of with writing? Can she dwindle away until nothing wakes her up anymore?
I had a dream today
under the barred shadows of noon day sun and blinds.
My coffee stained the sheets
and drawing paper canvas.
I was running along a long dirt road,
the burn of my calves made the corners
of my lips reach up and grab my cheek bones.
They hung there, feet dangling under my eyes and below
my brow.
suspended in air where it lingered, for I could not stop.
the sun rose as I persuded it.
Tucked gently behind rolling hills that were barren and covered with rich soil.
I did not stop.
I went on.
and on.
I felt my chest tighten, my eyes opening with but a flutter.
The smell of mocha carresed my cheek,
sent my fingers sticky
and wet.
The coffee stain on my canvas streched out like a road, and the ink of my pen made my shadow.
Running on.
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