an undulating curve
i wish the softness of feeling could be conveyed through language.
but all the tender things that might be in my heart
never translate in the mind, let alone
make it out
the mouth.
and for fear of rejection
all the sweet nothings, that are true, remain nothings
and so i creep to the towers
and become a ghost
high, beyond reason
unattainable
incommunicative
unresponsive
more than that,
a perfectly composed pile of shit
look from afar and see a statue
bring with you binoculars
and see a figure
drowning in the contents
of themselves
ask why or how or what
and the lips will open
but all that will come out
astringent and strings of honey
thick with blood
enthusiastically
without tone
ask why or how or what
and the arms will reach out
the hands grabbing at yours
to engage you in a dance
twirling like dervishes
waltz, swing, flamenco
until you can't stand
and the statue
will harden again
bouncing back and forth
between mirage
and the ground you've tread on
i am stressed out a lot. im drawn and quartered between the best and the worst and the nothing and the everything. where's my center?
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