Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Feb 2016
we were wandering down the side of the highway, pickin' blackberries on the way back to the car. this'd hit my mind many times over the past week, and will probably continue out into the future:

there's somethin' ticking away in there, makes me shrink away from humanity, despite the loneliness i ain't wanna amplify any. words i need to say crop up, out of the blue mist of living, and internally i make all the motions to spread 'em out, see the way my hands, lips would move, in exact musculature sweeps. but it don't follow through.

is this leavin' blues? that if i shrink away from those who care, it'll be easier to let go once more? or just an excuse for laziness (fairly sure 'twas for the last month or so, last city)? if i swore i'd love equally and with open heart, why can't i keep eye contact, even with my own cousin? is this penance for all ashamedness i can't slip from my hands?

i'm full of excuses and few good ones. i am changing and learning to let go, but understand that perhaps i need to learn to hold on a little better. is it possible to figure it out before true wrenching loss colours my palette? or is it necessary to keep shedding skin to find meaning?

don't know how to express fully how much people mean to me, and can't seem to do anything in a half-measure. is it okay to settle for flawed motions, to prevent from seeming bored? to act as i see through in others, find of little use; is it instead endearing, or even just to confer base notions in a derobed manner?

how do these shells come away? how do these walls tear down?
note: stop diggin' holes, stop runnin' away.
Tom McCone
Written by
Tom McCone  Wellington
(Wellington)   
574
 
Please log in to view and add comments on poems