Everyday, without fail,
I'd find myself in this space,
At the end of the living room.
Just big enough for one of me
To lie sideways, and another me
To sit with his back to the railing,
And his feet right up against the doors.
I'd find myself taking a nap there,
On afternoons that render
My cozy bed and blanket suffocating,
And even if sleep kept itself
At an arm's length away,
The warmth of the sun at its height
Made me think less of how
It's not just sleep that put a distance
Between itself and me.
Every now and then,
I'd find myself curled up,
On the aging mattress lying there
On the floor, left behind by somebody.
Sometimes, I have my phone with me,
As I keep looking away from matters
That are right up in my face.
There are less fortunate days,
When my phone's a few feet away,
And the space between it and I
Is home to all my baggage
That's begun to rot and smell over the years.
Between the time I had my last meal,
And when the day has no more surprises to reveal,
I'd find myself propped up there.
Some nights, I'd sit and strum
An off-key guitar that's missing a string,
Taking breaks to light a cig or two.
It could be the nicotine, it could be my delusions,
But sometimes I feel I've become
Just a little better,
Though I know that's just my way
Of reminding oneself,
That things hopefully get better over time.
This little area has seen a fair bit
Of burnt butts and paper planes,
Of drunk delirium and sober concerns,
Of an abundance of persons,
And the lack of it all -
It's the balcony, it couldn't be
A space of my own, you know?
Even so, in the wee hours
Where insomnia flirts with dissociation,
When my 'everyone' exists but in person,
And I crave for a shoulder to rest on,
This place saves me.
Not quite in the heroic sense
Of culling dragons and scaling towers,
But, in a simpler twisted way,
Wrapping some vines around my ankles,
To keep me from seeing what's over the edge,
Yet letting me know, in it's own way,
That I'm probably not alone.
Apr 14, 2025
Apr 14, 2025 at 7:06 AM UTC
I don't hold any memories
Nothing that tells me what I like
Or that tells me what I was like
For all I know
The only place I do know
Is this bed of white sheets
Where I wake up each day
Every day these past two weeks
And the only person I know
Is that lady in white
Greeting me every morning with a smile
If nothing else, this sight
Has found its place in my mind
She showed me someone
Someone who claims to know me
Someone who went to school with me
I do not know him though
His 'me' resembled a butterfly
Flitting between the flowers in a garden
Giving each the attention deserved
Gracefully, without any reserve.
An image that felt quite foreign
To this husk that remains at present
Another day,
She showed me someone
Someone who claims to know me
Someone who shared my blood
I do not know her though
Her 'me' seemed like a wise cat
Knowing when to pick a fight
Knowing when to restrain its bite
Knowing how far of an arm's length
To keep itself away
From being too involved or too little
In any event of concern around it
I should learn from such a cat,
But I find it hard to believe I was that.
Yet another day,
She showed me someone
Someone who claims to know me
Someone who claims to love me
And also claims to love me as I am
I do not know her though.
Her 'me' painted a picture of a vase
Holding tulips and daisies,
Broken to bits yet held together
By some substance unfamiliar.
I can't seem to comprehend
How this vase stands on end
'Love,' she says, but it's only
One of many four lettered words
That fill the same space as 'vase'
As my days went by,
Meeting people who knew 'me'
A choice needed to be made.
Which one of the 'me's is me,
And which one shall continue being me?
The shell I am doesn't remember
Holding a butterfly, a cat or a vase
The person I am now
Doesn't owe any of them a place
Yet I wonder
Would it be wrong of me
If I chose one while forsaking the rest?
It's always a little easier
To trace over the lines already drawn
By someone who knew better
Should I be giving up
A chance at a clean slate?
A chance to let myself
Be free like a bird not caged
A chance to take a shape
Any 'me' has yet to take
I wouldn't know better
After all, the only place I know
Is this bed of white
And the only person I know
Is that lady in white
Aug 30, 2024
Aug 30, 2024 at 10:56 AM UTC