Souris - Hello Poetry

My wrist-watch has stopped working, It’s tick tick ticks had ceased, The second hand suspended in void, Waiting for time to be released. I made my way to the clock-maker And entered into a tocking room Multiple hands moving about While mine waited to resume. The bearded man studied me With an unsettling grin As he took my watch away And such he did begin A minute passed and then two, And perhaps three or four Then suddenly, I heard my watch begin ticking once more I paid the man, who gave a smile And turned right towards the door. I barely noticed that the clocks Were not ticking anymore And when I stepped outside I had looked up to see That the world around me had stopped All except for me. So I turned to see the shop And found it was not there, And so I stood, in silence, too, With my watch ticking in the air.

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Jan 25, 2019

Jan 25, 2019 at 3:27 PM UTC

Souris

The Clock-Maker

My wrist-watch has stopped working, It’s tick tick ticks had ceased, The second hand suspended in void, Waiting for time to be released. I made my way to the clock-maker And entered into a tocking room Multiple hands moving about While mine waited to resume. The bearded man studied me With an unsettling grin As he took my watch away And such he did begin A minute passed and then two, And perhaps three or four Then suddenly, I heard my watch begin ticking once more I paid the man, who gave a smile And turned right towards the door. I barely noticed that the clocks Were not ticking anymore And when I stepped outside I had looked up to see That the world around me had stopped All except for me. So I turned to see the shop And found it was not there, And so I stood, in silence, too, With my watch ticking in the air.

28

First you catch their attention. A smile, a flirting laugh of breathy air. Perhaps you’ll trace your fingers across their knuckles, press your thumbs against their barren palms. Your low voices whisper into the air, quiet conversations over cups of steaming coffee. They will want to see you again. Their face will light up like fireflies dancing in twilight, and you will feel wanted and important, excited like a child unwrapping a birthday gift. You’ll take walks through woods, drive through busy streets and sit side by side on park benches. They will come to enjoy your presence. You will laugh more together, dream up of ideas and activities like making road trips, seeing families, concerts, sharing holidays. You touch more, hand holding, kissing, embracing, feel whole and comfortable with the other, finally feeling wanted and loved. They will be loyal to you. You will leave a cold text. You made yourself unforgettable, a blot in their memory, your ghost left in all the trembling spaces where you connected with one another. They imagine you with someone new. They constantly wonder if you ever cared about them like they did for you. They yearn for an answer but plead for ignorance. That’s how you get someone to love you.

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Nov 7, 2018

Nov 7, 2018 at 4:25 PM UTC

Souris

how to get someone to love you

First you catch their attention. A smile, a flirting laugh of breathy air. Perhaps you’ll trace your fingers across their knuckles, press your thumbs against their barren palms. Your low voices whisper into the air, quiet conversations over cups of steaming coffee. They will want to see you again. Their face will light up like fireflies dancing in twilight, and you will feel wanted and important, excited like a child unwrapping a birthday gift. You’ll take walks through woods, drive through busy streets and sit side by side on park benches. They will come to enjoy your presence. You will laugh more together, dream up of ideas and activities like making road trips, seeing families, concerts, sharing holidays. You touch more, hand holding, kissing, embracing, feel whole and comfortable with the other, finally feeling wanted and loved. They will be loyal to you. You will leave a cold text. You made yourself unforgettable, a blot in their memory, your ghost left in all the trembling spaces where you connected with one another. They imagine you with someone new. They constantly wonder if you ever cared about them like they did for you. They yearn for an answer but plead for ignorance. That’s how you get someone to love you.

38

I don’t focus much on death itself anymore, but what comes after. Whatever comes will be, and that is that. I cannot change it, and there’s no sense in agonizing over it. I like to imagine my body after the event, when I am no longer conscious, and the breath in my lungs have long dissipated like last season’s floral. Even though the chances are slim, I like to imagine being in the forest, surrounded by trees and flowers and perhaps a stream. I imagine a sort of time-lapse, my body collapsing inward, my skin peeling away, my hair wilting like autumn leaves. Mushrooms will grow beneath my fingers, wildflowers will tangle themselves within my hair and ribcage, blooms and blossoms of all colors will emerge through my chest. My bones will grow moss and Mother Earth will swallow me whole. Tree roots will wrap around me, engulfing me, pulling me towards themselves. I will be wanted, I will belong. Let me nurture you like you’ve done with me, let me help you grow and flourish into who you are to become, let me be your trellis, your shield, your hill. I will allow you to bloom such as you have me, and we will flourish together, life within death. It goes on, and it is peaceful. Where there is death or change, new growth awaits.

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Nov 4, 2018

Nov 4, 2018 at 4:34 PM UTC

Souris

New Growth

I don’t focus much on death itself anymore, but what comes after. Whatever comes will be, and that is that. I cannot change it, and there’s no sense in agonizing over it. I like to imagine my body after the event, when I am no longer conscious, and the breath in my lungs have long dissipated like last season’s floral. Even though the chances are slim, I like to imagine being in the forest, surrounded by trees and flowers and perhaps a stream. I imagine a sort of time-lapse, my body collapsing inward, my skin peeling away, my hair wilting like autumn leaves. Mushrooms will grow beneath my fingers, wildflowers will tangle themselves within my hair and ribcage, blooms and blossoms of all colors will emerge through my chest. My bones will grow moss and Mother Earth will swallow me whole. Tree roots will wrap around me, engulfing me, pulling me towards themselves. I will be wanted, I will belong. Let me nurture you like you’ve done with me, let me help you grow and flourish into who you are to become, let me be your trellis, your shield, your hill. I will allow you to bloom such as you have me, and we will flourish together, life within death. It goes on, and it is peaceful. Where there is death or change, new growth awaits.

12

On the day you left I went to class I couldn't concentrate I read your last message I thought it was a mistake I tried to eat lunch I wasn't hungry I read your message I scrolled through reddit I scrolled through Facebook I searched for you I couldn't find you I read your last message I thought perhaps you were scared I checked my Snapchat You were gone I read your last message I did laundry I tried to study I read your last message I thought it was my fault I cried I wrote a poem I read your last message I went to the library I pretended to study I read your last message I met with a friend I stayed up late I laughed and joked I went to my dorm I plugged in my lights I changed into my pajamas I read your last message I watched funny videos I didn't laugh I unplugged the lights I read your last message I repeated the words I stayed up way too late I thought perhaps I never mattered to you I didn't touch my phone The message is burned inside my head

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Oct 10, 2018

Oct 10, 2018 at 10:45 AM UTC