i walk on a path;
looking at everything through
the eyes of someone i don't recognize.
i carry scribbles on a paper
in my back pocket;
that only make sense to me.
i stare into the abyss;
only to find it staring back.
when i look back at the things i used to love;
(i could finally convince myself that i don't anymore)
i find it somewhat strange
at how difficult to explain
or complicated, as they say, it is.
cobwebs intersecting each other;
two portals that lead you to the same destination;
thunderstorms and rains;
you;
it's things like those
that have no beginning
you just have to take it from where you find it,
and make sense out of it.
so when i look back
i see flowers growing on stones
instead of the soil beside it
i see a candle dripping itself out
i see the moon, wanting to be hidden
and if i love complicated things
so much;
then i wonder
why
am i
unable
to
love
myself?
YOU ARE READING
Hiraeth: A Collection of Poems
PoetryHiraeth: a Welsh concept of longing for home. A type of homesickness, but for a home that you can't return to, or one that perhaps never existed. Aren't we all looking for home?
