Postcard

I often write of solitude as I know it well.
Who is rash enough to live in a world full of those they only merely know?
I do not find this courage easily
and it becomes increasingly difficult as I grow up,
as I change into the lady I think I should be.
Expectations have a way of leading me on,
they coax me into false entitlement,
they whisper sweetly into my ear
and I am lured into that familiar trap.

I live in a world that may not exist,
a place buried deep in the mind of strangers,
to a point of disappearing altogether.
The sometimes unexplainable love I have for life
somehow will not justify the reality.
Your words make me wonder,
they weave in and out of my dreams in the dark,
they are a cacophonous blend of sounds.
Where would you end were I to begin again?

I find myself lost in the tangle of time,
roaming this starry expanse with nowhere to finish.
Do I fall into that uncomfortable chaos
or reside here in this perfect stillness?
Would I wander aimlessly into the future
as my heart tells me to hold onto that fleeting second?
Life may be defined by how far-reaching one’s affections are,
yet I am profoundly dazed.
I am lost, I am retired.

Lips

I’m finding it difficult to prove myself right these days. The deeper I go, the more uncertain I become. All the poetry is going into one ear and out the other. I’m getting sucked into the vortex of common existence and I don’t know how I feel about that. Not sure where my anchor has been dragged off to, but it’s not a place I recognize. Maybe if I weren’t so hellbent on nagging judgment of others I would feel differently. But I know myself, I’ve been there and back again. It’s all this 21st century bullshit that’s screwing up my thinking. But your lips. What would Jane do?