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(Think of this as a soliloquy,
or an actor/actress speaking out loud to themselves.) Yes, you know, yes you do. You know what its like to feel in that skin that covers you. And what it feels like to be afflicted, addicted. We were all beautiful boys, beautiful girls once. Now, you know, mostly now, a world that distracts and deconstructs it seems. You're filled with unquiet noise and sleepless destructive dreams where you are running from yourself or the someone who looks very much like you. The world, it pushes. The world distorts. It doesn't fit. It makes bad sport of you. Stirs your insides out. Makes you reel from all the confusion that you feel. And, how do you appeal to your better self? Do you even have one? I have found I've lost myself. And I know I'm not alone. I'm in good company. We're all inching by, relying on the dimestore cheap. Some days aren't our own. We lie awake, busying ourselves listening for the key and the creak of a door we hope opens as we play at sleep. We all wait for the night doors of our imaginations to swing open wide. To let us into Nirvana's deep folding us into skin canyons of sweet relief. (So we can hide.) Oh, oh, oh... To find the beautiful girls and boys we used to be within ourselves and with one another. However, the afflictions and addictions have become our latest fling, alas. We hate the pain we inflict and feel but we make it queen and king, and we cannot help ourselves as we make it last. Our roles are too familiar in the drama of our past. Its too two personal. Its a flinching glance in the mirror. And a misplaced the key to the doors of perception, as we mumble grumble vaguely: "What its like, huh, is this what its like?" I believe this was written during a "heatwave." Copyright and Written August 2011 All Rights Are Reserved By This Author Melissa A Howells Meloo straight from her Tilt-a-World Vote for this poem |
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