the soft

feel

it is so nice 

to feel once more 

and not have to pretend 

it is so nice 

to feel once more 

and not approach things in a 

purely intellectual manner

it is so nice

to feel once more 

and not become one of those

empty shells, scrolling through

their instagram feed, desiring

attention and confirmation

it is so nice

to feel once more

and not become a hollow puppet

trying to please everyone 

and failing to please yourself the most. 

it is not even about feeling, 

to be honest. 

we live in a world where it is so 

damn hard to open your heart

and let your voice sing with whatever

love you might have hidden in there. 

it seems that as people get older

we lose passion and we lose joy 

we no long holler at the tops of our lungs

feel plunging emotions of deep sadness

and shooting emotions of great euphoria

we live life like driving through a flat plateau

and when we see a side road we only go

the easy way.  people say things and we're

a bobblehead puppet, agreeing. our ideas

and thoughts are dictated by the simple 

mindless quacking of the throat, the taps of

the tongue, the movement of the lips. 

what happened to the love of

life? what happened to the love of emotion?

what happened to simply living and enjoying

life as it is? remember. remember the halcyon 

days where you sat underneath the gentle sun

and was content? remember the day when the

rain fell in a nice drizzle and you took the time 

to pick the snails off the sidewalk so they wouldn't

get trampled? remember the day when rain poured

down in thick sheets and you decided to slide down 

the muddied hill? you came back home with 

white vans that were no longer white

and jeans so destroyed that even the pockets had 

mud and bits of blooming grass in them and  a face 

splattered with flowers of dirt. and you had never been 

happier to trudge home looking like a maniac, a

sane and true person in a staggering minority of one.  

you had never been. happier. 

it is so nice to feel.

authentic. genuine. 

i would like to go back once again

to that muddied hill and run down it.

trip. fall. roll seven times and grin because

seven is my lucky number.

get back up again. smiling 

the whole time. dance in the rain and sing

the old throwback song that everyone hates

but you love. i would like to go back

once again and break of the bobblehead's 

stupid bobbling head and stick the word

"no" in. i would like to go back and fill

those gray days back with sunshine. throw

back the blinds and open the windows.

let the rain and the sun and the wind filter

in all at once. 

it is so nice 

to feel once more

to reach inside me and 

recognize me for me. 

     - be authentic. genuine. 

A / N : for isha, because this poem reminded me of her.