this is not a story
this is not one thing with pieces and parts all together moving forward
there is no inciting incident
when we start, there is nothing new
nothing changes
the rising action falls to our feet and we watch it crawl over the uneven floor
we step over it and move on
remind ourselves that it isn't important
there was no turning point, no day like no other day
there is no snow falling on the ground
there is no perfect person catching us just as we fall
there is no perfect
the falling action has no falling
the big black moment is just something that happens
so far away from us
the only act is that we put on in the song and dance of normal life
of pretending that this is what we want to be doing
of pretending
there is no resolution
and you may have noticed
the lack of climax
welcome
welcome to the anticlimactic
YOU ARE READING
Anticlimactic
PoesiaRelated unrelated poetry all shoved into a book that only sort of relates to itself. Also known as how to look at trauma like you're semi-well adjusted.
