sorrow as sustenance
you call swallowing my sorrow
an act of self-denial;
i call it encasing freedom
where i can breathe it the most
where it can swirl as a tempest,
as a hurricane, reminding myself
how it is to feel the things
which spill out of my mouth
broken and gasping, finding
their way to a page. do you
know how it is to make others feel
but to never feel yourself?
it is a void, an abyss, an emptiness
without the feeling of staring up
at the ceiling at night making pictures
out of cracks and feeling time slip;
by swallowing my sadness
i am taking that nothingness
already cavernous inside of me
and planting something in it,
i am teaching myself how
to create swirling nebula out
of pain. i am my own
cradle of newborn stars.
Comments:
None yet — feel free to leave your thoughts in the form above.