And just like that,
the tide pulled me
back out drowned.
The low hum of
the current, tuning me
to the frequency of a lost
signal.
When I was little,
the ghosts—
they frightened me
as they
surrounded me in
bed.
Today they grip
my soul, tearing one
piece at a time,
suffocating me as they
try to escape the
graveyard of memories
haunting my head.
This sadness–stitching
fragments of moments into
emotion woven by the
unforgiving needle of time.
I spoke to the sun the other
night, as she spoke back—
her voice dissolved all the
fright.
The flood shows up in
a flash and I never did
learn to swim.
It comes for me—because
the storm is mine.
Standing at the edge of
the cliff, I’ve learned to
take a step back, but tonight
I cannot control the weather.
But I can see the pattern.
It’s no longer the storm I track
so I embrace the winds
of ambivalence with love
as they fade.
It isn’t poetic.
I know they’ll be back