I know myself so well, my thoughts bore me.
I cut a hole through the wall, eager to leave myself behind.
I lay on the floor and watch people walk out of my chest.
I stare backwards until I tire of the people staring back at me.
If I don’t fill myself up
with all the randomness
available at my fingertips,
how will I find a new idea?
Stuck on repeat:
the lines I wrote
in 4th grade
at age 19, 24, 36, 42
scream the same words:
there is a loneliness here that cannot be filled.
And yet but still every contradiction works:
I fill up on beauty
reframe my old stories
in a city
Yes, I’m still astounded by a spring that arrives in winter
surprised to be a mother-a wife- a girl
so sensitive & elastic
they say the neurons that fire together wire together
(there is a loneliness here that cannot be filled)
Reframe & my blue eyes eat up:
The girl with two-toned brown/blond fine hair that touches her shoulder blades,
she calls me hers, full smile and sung in tune.
The young woman perplexed by acne who hates geometry
asks me ‘how was your day’
& means it: she waits for my answer.
The man who’s still 27 as he reaches for 50
slices me an avocado. Says, ‘taste this.’
I let the fruit ripen. I slice the lemon and shake the salt.
I’ve made guacamole more than 100 times.
I remake myself in the name of beauty.
I’m green & my pit is loneliness. She lies to me.