.
Some fine tides they are
My life is beyond them
I must go over to the other side
I must face Poseidon
God guide me
Atlantis before me
Everytime I look in the mirror
I can't recognize the images i see
Is this me
Is this real
I don't know what beautiful is to you
But I'm sure it's nothing close to what i feel when i say the word
Are you done? ... Am I done what?...
Are you done rejecting yourself (rhetorical of course)
(but still I pretend) I don't know what you mean.
What's an ego.
What's self esteem.
What does it refer to.
Who does it apply to.
What am I.
Who am I.
I've probably lived life before, I say to Mr Suleiman. "How do you know? "
Obviously I don't but he decides to ask anyways. So I pull this out of my ass or... "I feel it sometimes, everything I do. It feels like its seen a blueprint of my life somewhere before. But I only remember when I come across my golden moments". My heart.
"Weird right? " .
"No, not at all", He says without a hint of surprise. He said it apathetically.
Like he knew exactly what I meant. I don't know if he said it out of sheer ignorance or... I don't know. But that night at the old man's corner shed I cried. I cried salty tears. The candle light was dim so he couldn't see me.
I don't know if I cried because that was a bad week for me or because I was tired or... But the tears just ran.
I don't care what you think, I think
.
YOU ARE READING
"stories" INCOMPREHENSION
PoetryThe things that distract me. All the things so intriguing. Storytelling... Poetry...
