Please tell me that the door has locked.
I’ll pretend to lose my strength if you pretend to swallow the key.
I like to walk through different decades.
Mozart plays and I listen.
My senses enhance, the minutes go past while I caress the cactus by the window.
Perhaps spines hurt more than thorns.
I observe people from a safe distance but I get distracted tracing up stains left behind by the rain.
The kettle likes to scream.
Yesterday and I comfort each other in the living room.
Afternoons that promised what the outside world couldn’t .
Meet me again next year around this time.
I will be slightly older but happier.
Just make me a promise.
Don’t start walking away until I tell you.
I’ll keep myself captive for a bit longer.
Mozart is playing and I have to listen.
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Author:
Ani. Is. (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: March 3rd, 2023 04:02
- Comment from author about the poem: When social anxiety tinted my days.
- Category: Reflection
- Views: 9
Offline)
Comments2
in war, they term it
'tactical retrograde'
in life
we call it retreating
to survive, to fight
and witness, another
dawning
of possibility...
I laud your survival poetry, dear poet
thanks for sharing
music, is a wise friend
to keep by our side
in those trenches of life
Thank you dear poet friend. It’s all about survival. Your words are oh so captivating.
Hope is a gentle guest, fears neither thorns nor spines .. It will drop six sugar cubes in your boiling kettle.. Tomorrow, as well, would not ask you why you embrace such a pathetic yestrday..!
Thank you for sharing this, I’m in awe of your thoughts.
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