m stands for...

melancholy.

here is a poem i wrote earlier tonight. it's free verse and weird, but it's what's inside my soul these days.


Why is the heart like an open wound,
Open to feel yet unable to make rhythm.

Sore from the pain
Hoping to find the beat.

I know it’s so wrong, the way that I feel.
Stuck in a place that’s in between.
Wanting to take the solo road,
But clinging on to the feeling of warmth.

Why can’t the trees and leaves be by my side?
A rusty picket fence pointing toward a home I can’t feel.

The world isn’t what I thought it would be.
Love is toxic, it’s the sickness I wanted.
But it left me angry, empty, hungry, unwillingly aware.

I wanted the love of a 1940s romance,
Grab my face, pull me in, breathe my kisses until we are forced to part.
His hand on my waist, we move with the wind, we sway,
Swinging in rhythm to the beat of our hearts.

But I fling off the high heels of my fantasty and return to solitude,
Where I’ll remain, for some time, I don’t know.
My heart like the staccato notes on the page, chasing after time and searching for air.
A musical solo and I don’t know the tune.