poetry – nor of the west

spring

leave me alone

i don’t want to go to your party and i don’t want to explain why

i want to roll my shoulders out of the upcoming events
just as easily as i roll off the winter coat that has otherwise held me in

the air is confused, it’s like oil mixing with water under a car
not quite sure whether it’s one colour or many

i don’t want to

warm up to any excitements

not yours, not anyone’s

its just not about you,
so much so, that there is no you in my mind

i’m stirring like i do every spring
to things and peacefulness beyond what the world has ever given me

i want to be nowhere, but i definitely don’t want to be here

the warm air brings with it a nausea that might bring up everything that i’ve apparently been holding down

at once i breathe in and turn away from the breeze that will be my undoing

mindfulness

blue jellyfish in water — Photo by Diogo Brandao on Pexels.com

I’m using up all of my energy treading mind’s water,
afraid to sink below the surface even for a moment.

It’s not that I can’t hold my breath;
it’s that shutting my eyes and allowing the waves to take me under
will heighten my eternal senses,
my heart.

I’m avoiding being silent, avoiding it quite deliberately,
swimming from activity to caffeinated activity,
creating more reasons to stay here, afloat.

I’m afraid to know what’s down there

but more afraid that
despite my long-held belief that the darkness is also home to a sunken treasure,

there won’t be anything else at all there with me
and I’ll know that I am truly alone.

nights like these

man walking on the empty street — Photo by Alex Fu on Pexels.com

sometimes i really want to dip my toes back into the stream of the past

my fun apartment late nights on the streets of capital of nations
and other places in my head

all the moments stretched out as far as they could

before gooping back like chewing gum

its actually a lot easier now

because im trying to remember a feeling

rather than building one anew

where i have to crawl through it and feel around the walls to figure out, where am i

this is like being back somewhere familiar

i know where all the keys on my keyboards are

but i have to start from what feels right to know

what the next letter will be

its nights like these that

make me want to fall in love again

on a walk with a stranger

on a rain-soaked street in suburban university city drinking SoBe from sobeys

i’ve been here before

and thats exactly why i need to leave

this intoxication with intoxication itself is cringeworthy

even though it’s been,

so much fun

creative conundrum

arid barren clay cracks — Photo by icon0.com on Pexels.com

i will write on one side of the page only

and it can be someone else’s problem

to figure out where the paper will come from

Coming home

: Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

The view outside is so clear now that we’ve cleaned the windows.

The silence this spare room offers at late hours despite the near-constant sound of tires gripping road, engines conbusting outside, is like the sanctuary of my consciousness despite the constant traffic in my mind.

I feel like who we really are cannot be suppressed, even if the environment and circumstances change. Here I am, years later, sitting at the windowsill, writing in this journal and looking out, and in.

I think I’ll always find my windowsill no matter where I go.

May there be many more quiet nights like these.