#loveself

Sit inside waiting

I look at my hands and as my nails grow too quickly, I wonder how these “dead” cells seem to carry on in existence. How do we know what is dead and what is alive? If I could sing in tune I would probably write a poem to sing. Instead I listen to old symphonies that make my chest rise and fall in harmony.

There are never enough words to keep me here. There is never enough patience to see me through until the end of a chapter, a page, a paragraph. My mind is like a metallic pinball, bouncing off the edges and reflecting the light of the sun.