but is this it?
is this the food that feeds the gnawing hunger, the salve that soothes the ache, the key that fits the lock and opens the door to home?
I have been missing something, a limb, for my entire life, and it- it looks like you.
a mistake I've made before - mouth parched dry, drinking seawater to stay alive.
I am not lonely - I am never alone. I tell myself that the hole is part of me, because all thousand cures I've tried don't work. The gaping wound returns, splits back open, as I choke on the poison I drank and swallow back tears again. I have known a thousand great loves. I am a whole and singular person, no matter how many pieces. I am not missing anything. I am full and complete. And I ache.
if there is nothing missing, what hurts?
and why are you a part of me?
is this it?
YOU ARE READING
Assorted Poetry
PuisiI had a vent account on Poetizer, but it went paid, so I had to save the poems here. They're not particularly effortful, just vomited prose, but I had nothing else to do with them. They may be added to, or not. Largely not too graphic, but there is...
