Poetry and Writes

Nothing Has to Be True (POEM)

*An untimed write while listening to Nothing Has to Be True (by First Aid Kit). No prompt, except the music.*

I lay awake in my bed. It's April.

My mom and I drove to pick my brother up from his orchestra rehearsal earlier this evening. I smelled scents of rose and cut grass. I rolled my window down further. It felt like it would rain. The wind ran through my hair. I felt like crying as it touched upon a bald spot on my scalp. In a mindless panic the night before, I had pulled my hair from there. Now I had to use a pin to tack my part the opposite way, to cover the red skin. I hadn't told anyone about it.

And everything felt so inexplicably heavy.

During the ride, our car drove past a baseball field and nature path. I felt a pang deep in my chest. My dad and I had wandered there with our dog late one night, when the snow had fallen fresh. That had been in January, on an aimless evening walk. I hadn't felt cold then.

Now the nights are lighter, smell sweeter. The stars are easier to see. After all, it's April, isn't it?

I looked out the windows of the car at the waving poplars and headlights. I wanted to cry but I couldn't.

Now in bed I hear the rain falling, see the moon's pale light. The ceiling's shadows are deep and traceable.

NOTE: Isn't it so frustrating when you try to write about a feeling, but all that comes out of it is something that looks generic and angsty? Well, at least I tried.

--KingfisherBirdLady