Refocus on the Oxygen

He looked a little dead inside
With his eyes glazed, forward
Staring, searching
For himself. I found
Myself tilting my head as I looked
At him looking
At the air between us.

/michal

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How Time Exists and Moves and Elopes

Do you feel what everybody feels?
Or are you alone, your soul wandering,
A mended body
Flowing
Beating
Something inside, like a heart
(Or a fist)
Signalling a life
(Or a suffering)
Perhaps both.

Yet you step forward each moment
Into the forgiving future
That allows you to be whole
If you wish
And healed
If you try
And yourself
If you dare

/michal

Uphill Start

I wonder when you will leave me.
I wonder what your excuse will be.
I wonder if I should trust you at all,
Give you the opportunity to leave me

Broken,

I wonder what your intentions are
(Looking for)
I wonder if you know who you are
(Looking for)
I wonder if you wonder about me
(Wishing to know)
(More about you)

/michal

The Beginning is Aware of the End

Please tell me you’ll make a dent.
I am tired of relationships that end
without pain, without an ending. Fizzle
due to a lack of heat to begin with. Fizzle
into an ending that was obvious from the start.

I want a relationship that I know will hurt if it ends,
that will leave me broken. Only then will I know
that I have felt deeply. Only then will I know
that it was worth it. I want to be whole
with someone that might break me,
not because I like to be broken
but because I like to be whole.

And I know I can be whole again
after a breaking, for I have done it already,
and I can do it again.

Be that potential for hurt with me.
Be that potential for love.

/michal

Renting Myself

Have I fallen apart?
I wonder alone, out loud
When I see a reflection
Looking tough
(Not tough
Like a hero,
But tough,
Like overcooked meat.)
Too much heat
Too many thoughts
Too many people

(I haven’t checked in
With myself)
I am a squatter
In my own life
Remaining without rent
Without focus
(Without myself)

Me but hardly me

/michal

Uncovering / Recovering

I have filled myself with others’ stories.
Stories to avoid my own.
Stories to carry,
to ponder,
to listen to on repeat in my own head late at night,
when I am forgetting to be writing my own.

Stories of pain
and difficulty and happiness and
memories, felt or lost or forgotten
until they are told out loud.

I have been overflowing with other selves
I absorbed, mistakenly
trying to fit them into my own concave interior,
a container to be filled and shipped
somewhere far. I yearn to lock
and steal these stories inside of me,
take them to a new place where I might bury them,
and as I dig their grave, in the soil I find
myself, waiting to be lifted out and taken home.

/michal