I am both the storm and the one who seeks shelter from it.
I flood fields I attempt to water, I break what I am trying to mend. I reach with one arm and shove with the other.
I love with a heart that's hurting, and hurt a heart that's loving.
I feel as though I am both lost and expected to lead. Exhausted but restless. If I'm a rubber band pieces of me have dried in the hot sun and are no longer stretching. If I am an egg, my yoke is still runny while the rest of me is cooked.
I'm breaking, cracking, falling apart. Desperately repairing the damage I cause, terrified of causing more as I swing my hammer.
I am breathing and alive.
I am gasping and wishing for reprieve.
YOU ARE READING
Incongruity
PoetryThis is where I will put my poems about my experiences. I just want somewhere to store them. If they resonate with someone, then I'm glad to have at least been a voice of familiarity in a world that feels so full of solidarity. Also I usually only w...
