nostalgia

there’s pain in my chest
trickles down my arms
and i feel in my fingertips
tears accumulated over the years

what aches
is the realization that
my longing may have been painted
my home may not be it
nostalgia, a bullet lodged in my chest

and i tried to show the wound to others
people sympathize
but where’s the one to take it out
you are nowhere to be found

not right now at least
i feel fine, with a wounded chest
i feel good, with a purple scab
i feel lonely, with people all around
i feel sad, with happiness around
i feel okay, i do
numbness is good
being numb helps with poetry
when i can write about
everything that makes me numb

your look

tropes
i see dresses
worlds
i see bowties
lens
i see hair
different colors
same face
different faces
same color
yelling words
words that yell

only 24 hours a day
wear what’s comfortable
you sleep half of it away anyways
exaggeratedly true
what is truth
it’s like teeth in your mouth
one two three four
too many to count
but not too many if you count

here

there’s no where else to go
because here is where i am
the present is here
the here is now
that land over there
can’t be your escape
there’s no running
no hiding
only you
and one island
you stand on
no other ocean
no other sky
your island is good
and make it good, will you
make that your task
don’t dream for fun
dream so what you see becomes good
even when the ocean gets rough
and waves crash into sand
harsh
casually
turbulent
windy
it passes at some point
no need to look back