Waiting for things to feel

Week 5 in Quarantine

I can't even cry because the emotions would be too heavy to carry
and the days between white walls have washed emotion away
As I wait for the next meal,
a blankness blankets the day
As I heal from every interaction
it feels like a ripped off band-aid
As I yearn for solitude

And this is the only place I can be completely real
Instead of picking through unharvested thoughts
thinking of pasts, futures, missing the now
and still,
I'm waiting for things to feel.

i momenti

 Quando i momenti vanno troppo veloce
Allora decelerò

Quando i momenti sono troppo corto
Allora crescerò da gli

Quando i momenti sentono troppo fatto
Gli disimballò

E poi gli porto con me mentre imballo le mie valigie

When the moments go too fast
Then I’ll slow down

When the moments are too short
Then I’ll grow from them

When the moments feel too made
I’ll unpack them

And then carry them with me while I pack my suitcases

A shred of doubt

A piece of paper, pinkish, on it written some aspect of our lives.  It was found deep down, under all those layers of thick skin that took us years to build, under blood cells moving through our veins.  It was found beneath muscle, bone, and the breath that kept our body moving. In fact you couldn’t even see it. The paper was invisible to modern microscopes it was so small, and yet there it rested, just a small shredded piece of paper, pinkish.  It was a small shred of doubt, a love letter, laying underneath these layers of human, and something about its presence told us to observe ourselves from afar. It seemed godly, an out of body experience, and finally we could see what was written on that tiny paper through our plain eyes. And whether the meaning of it’s words began to fade or become more saturated, we started to see the larger picture around us, and for the moment, it saved us.

keeping young


Is not that which is old
new
to the young who have never known it?

Are not those who have lived long
younger
every day they allow themselves growth?

Time has a way of disguising itself
Hidden in the endless trickle of memories
behind her pearly bright eyes and so I say 

life never tires, 
It goeth.