Sorrow is a familiar feeling
(though not very appreciated).
Where the lights dim much too soon
to see what is beyond the
thoughts that come before the explanation.
I’m doing a lot of self-wallowing this year.
Thirteen years I’ve lived with self-hatred.
And the sighs keep growing heavier today
with masses of downward glances.
Masses of downward glances
fall onto my feet.
and make it harder for me to walk;
(weighing me down,
making me sink into the moist earth).
But the strength in my heart is
fighting the frustration,
for though they were my comfort
formerly, today I noticed myself
noticing them and turned away.
(Looking down all the time gets tiresome.)
Lifted my head.
Today a raindrop trickled past my ear
and whispered (almost inaudibly),
that in the distance
it tasted lonely winds with no one to feel
them blow their soft breezes on.
I feel that I would love
to visit them
and dance between their gusting caresses
(be swept up in leaf whirlwinds),
and fall into their welcoming breaths.