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Sep 24 · 20
dissociation
Andre W Sep 24
“ Separation of the mind
From the body
Will set you up for failure, "

I tell myself
Again,
And again,
And again.

I’ve formed this habit;
When things get too hard,
I just disconnect.
Like a flipped switch,
I’m just not me
Anymore.

I'm staring
at the back of my head
watching myself
write this poem.
Sep 24 · 20
spectrophobic
Andre W Sep 24
I hate mirrors,
Or,
I hate the girl who looks back at me
When I stare into them.

She isn’t me,
I mean, she is,
Literally,
But she doesn’t feel like me.

She likes singing,
And dancing,
And drawing.
She has a good sense of humor
And a funny laugh
That makes everyone else laugh, too.
She snores in her sleep
And grinds her teeth.
Mostly though,
She’s scared.
Of people,
Of the future,
Of talking to girls..

I don’t really know what I like yet,
Or if I’m good at singing,
Or drawing.
I don’t know If im funny,
Or how my laugh sounds.
Do I snore,
And grind my teeth?
Will I be scared?

That all doesn’t really matter,
Anyway,
I don’t hate her,
I envy the way she’s lived so long,
And despise the way she’s taken it for granted;
When I would give anything
To live
Like her.
Sep 24 · 15
Six Rings
Andre W Sep 24
Sometimes
I wish God,
Or some universal power,
Would force us together.

I wish,
Late at night I wish
That I’ll go to therapy and see you there,
Because I know you have issues, too,
And maybe,
Just maybe,
It’ll be fate
That we meet there.

And maybe,
I wish, when I go to the zoo,
That you’ll be working your summer job,
Well, it’s not summer anymore,
And I don’t think you work anymore.

I hope I’ll see you again,
So I can apologize
For never saying sorry,
And for never telling you
Everything that you knew.
Sep 23 · 37
Silence
Andre W Sep 23
An aphonic word touches my lips,
it promises it will be spoken dulcetly
If I were to give it the chance to exist,
And when I deny the word what it wants,
It begs,
It fills my mind and consumes my being,
It forces its way into my belly
And settles there.

I know all too well that it won’t leave.
My mind, and my body are its sacred place,
Never the wind,
Nor the paper,
My pen will never be able to make use of this word.

My mind though, oh my mind,
It will play the word over and over again,
It will sound out every syllable,
It will break it up into pieces,
And it will never leave me.

It lines my stomach now,
Infecting everything within this husk,
Makes me up;
My saliva, blood, and tears
Until it’s all I am.

— The End —