it smells like a room at 3am. wooden and still,
buzzing heater sounds, and a car driving past my window. Faint smell of clothes that beg to be washed.
the closet door is open.
-
and I sit here in the dark again
Watching the black through the spaces and then again the black through the window
With little feeling of fear
both so shielded and so open
the shirts hang in my closet,
I'm waiting for them to move, a black
Bending hand waiting to reach
That they should frighten me as they would
The mystery behind them and the many monsters they're filled with should terrify
but not now when I crave an excitement beyond myself
What I am afraid of is watching and just as empty
-
Sometimes I wish that the ghosts that watch me back would poke their fingers through to let me know that I am not the only terrifying thing in this room.
ESTÁS LEYENDO
Untitled Anthology for the 20 somethings
PoesíaMoulding myself into something I'm not. a love letter to all the sweetly gorey things and afflictions that are a part of being a young adult like love, insecurities and vulnerability in 15 parts. Image: "Connected, Communicating" Noah Kocher.
