shayesie

WIll I

Tracks run down both sides of my face
Symmetrically, and fall into my ears.
Tears pool there like the tides sometimes do
On the shore,
And it feels weird but not weird enough to
Move.

I’m lying on my back in the living room.

I need help. I need to scream. I need
One thousand things I can’t seem to see though they’re just on the edges
Of periphery. Thunder outside echoes the anxieties
In my brain and I hate—I absolutely hate—that it matches.
When the world gets too poetic, I get scared
Then I write lines and verse and all the rest.

I’m hiding under a blanket on my mattress.

The places few tears have dried on my face
Can be chipped away with a fingernail, so I do that
While I stare into space trying to locate some composite
Of peace. Or serenity or tranquility or calm—
Whatever synonym Google tells you to use,
Use that, and leave it alone.

I’m curled up in a corner of my closet.

But no place I go is quiet enough,
And nothing I hear is kind enough to ease these
Hurts. And it hurts. And it might feel that way for quite some time.
And I might lie here on the floor with my phone lost and
The lights off and heaving sobs
For quite some time.

And then eventually, I’ll be fine.

I breathe. I breathe. I breathe a bit more.
I feel carpet fibers, hear leaves on the other side of the screen,
And I see in the dark these could be my necessary trials.
Maybe after all this, I’ll find calm and tranquility and serenity
And peace.
I could very well be fine.

I’m pressing my skin against bathroom tiles.

Stay gold,
Sabrina