What's your resolution?
What was your last?
Is it worth the false hope,
looking back on your past?

my bones feel hollow in the winter's silence
crisp wind cuts through the seasons
bringing an atmosphere
of endings

my reflection in the lit up city window
seems morbid
in comparison to the ribbons and stars
families rushing to warmth
expectations of kin
stiff grins and distant conversations

the absence of magic
that once sparkled in my sight

not desolate, though
another run around the sun
brings hopeful glimmers
of beginnings

distracting yourself
from your sore chest
and existential questions

with screens, smiles,
and small talk

I’ve always had the narcissistic belief
that I deserved poetry
but I’m starting to realize
that us who live in words
fall for the purity of actions

when will I shift
no longer observing
but playing in your game

I am sick
of seeing all of you yearning
because you all just want the same

grant yourselves the silence
at least the sincerity
of truth

answer the questions
you've been avoiding
but not because I want you to

tell her, write to her, call her, even though you shouldn't
don't run away, confess to all, even though you said you wouldn't

trying to find quiet
fighting my body
battling my mind

I hurt
in ways well described
by the clocks ticking time
chasing rhymes
with false sincerity

alone
like the one emotion
you refuse to show

frustration
to say the least
to say the most
my thoughts have ceased
to make sense at all
you dropped your responsibility
of standing by my side
I have no concept
of what sprints through your mind

its not me

it never will be

at least not how
all the poets made me dream