People sing their somewhere over the rainbows
I remember one time when I was younger
And I didn't dwell in the corners of apathy and chronic depression
A part of my brain says, "Erin! Write the poem! Sing the song."
And I cannot
I cannot help but feel out of place:
An artist without art
A hollow Sham
Someone who once wrote a poem a day
Someone who once wanted to hold girls' hands and braid her hair
I do not know what to do now
I feel world-weary when I've no world to be weary of
Somewhere there is a pocket of time where I have my time
I sing my hopeful Judy Garland and do not think about how she was an addict
And how I am an addict
And how I will always be
There is a pocket of time where I wear my beautiful dress
And look out into the crowd to see a waving hand
I grasp the air with my fingers
And for a fleeting, beautiful second
Wave back
YOU ARE READING
hibernation: poems by colleen cosette goodman
Şiirpoems I wrote whilst waiting for spring. colleen cosette goodman © 2018
