dedicated mostly to FanOfWayTooMuch
***
there's not quite a word for it.
it's a knot in my stomach
that's small and light:
overwhelmingly tiny,
impossibly tight.
but it makes it hard to find
the energy to reply.
messages sit unread, even
from a close friend
(and with that comes the
gnawing guilt that i try
to keep under wraps).
nothing is wrong so everything's fine.
i don't remember pretending
and yet maybe that's why
i feel like a wax figure.
a word chewed over, swallowed,
the effort to say hello
disappears. talking to others
requires a need to talk,
a need i cannot find.
the worst part is, i don't know why.
perhaps it is the fear that
eventually we'll be forced back
into isolation, and no matter
how much i know it is for the best,
a small part of me resents.
it might have helped me back then,
but now it will break me again.
but really, i don't know why.
i just wrap myself away,
even away from writing,
for writing means replies
and replies are left unanswered.
even reading about people
makes me want to cry.
i'm desperate to be alone,
and yet when alone i feel
like i'm supposed to be with others.
hopefully the feeling will go.
if not, i'll push out a word or two,
and let someone know.
YOU ARE READING
the colour of mirrors
Poetrybecause there's only ever a moment, in between the waiting and the ones who are waited for.
