Tag: writing

I was born deep in the valley

To a mother who loved mountains

And a father who longed for the coasts 

I loved to venture out when I was young

And be with people in the sunlight

But my smile is always a bit too short

My eyes always a bit out of position

My reactions always a bit off cue

My phrases always looped like a record

My frame always stretched and looming

My walk always pointed and crooked

My name always unconnected to anything 

My presence always a bit unexpected 

I laugh at static to laugh at something

I live for stages to feel at home

I watch the world spin and want to spin with it

Maybe you see past the mask I craft

I certainly do, but I’m still not sure

What exactly is supposed to be underneath

I spent so long studying what might be there

But all I know I have is skin 

Fitted forever over an unknown 

But whatever might be there

I hope it’s something nice

Something that makes people happy

Something that’s close enough to human 

That would be nice

Please be patient with me

I’m learning how to be a person  

I have a headache

I treat it with two ibuprofen pills

And drink them down with bean broth from the garden back home

Mixed with tattered bits of veggie bacon

That I took back here in a Tupperware container

The ones with light blue lids that pop when you press them on

Never thought that would remind me of home

But still makes me smile

And all my thinking of silver hands and standing stones

And jumping with banshees to avoid the last stair of the fire exit

That only goes down and not up for some reason

Lets me get out of that feeling of my face being wrong

The hair glued to the scalp

And the air feeling too still 

And I don’t mind the mosquitoes

Putting a bump on each of my right fingers

Because I get to wander and look at mushrooms and cobwebs

And send pictures and recorded rivers to Mom and Dad

Smiling at the texts they send back

Because I like to share the earth in photos

And at night, when I don’t need to write about headstones

(One of the few times staying up ‘til 1 AM feels good)

I’ll spend them watching Bella Lugosi and listening to jellyfish lofi

But this time, I don’t laugh alone

Words flowing between like a two-stream-at-least river

And that will always be enough