It has been a minute
Since I’ve last spilled my words
Every time I write
The lines blurred.

I tried to write about the countdown
Till I see another face again
About hugs, the front-liners, different battles,
The quarantine— when it’ll all end.

But every time I wrote
I was reminded of the truth
2020 hasn’t been all that smooth.

When I would write
A flood of feelings from the past
Told me that moment was
The first and the last.

It was hard to write about the future
Hope disguised as expectations
When reality bled through the sutures
Giving me palpitations— a figment of my imagination.

When I would write about the present
The pain that it came with,
People dying and front-liners crying,
Stupidity preaching the virus is a myth.

Writing poetry
Made me miss people even more,
The outside world
With anxiety kicking down my door.

So I escaped in dances
Music and exercise
Downing six white claws
Playing video games and the ukulele till sunrise.

Writing was my coping mechanism
But I couldn’t stomach this
So here I write, trying it all again
Hopefully it wont hurt as much as it did.