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Apr 2018
Sometimes we wonder why the past haunts us;
I think it’s because
we can never know where we’re going, we can only know
where we’ve been,
and sometimes where we’ve been feels like
stomachs lined with barbed wire, sometimes it feels like
reaching for a glass of water but finding kerosene instead.

I’m starting to think that I’m going
somewhere warmer, I’m starting to hope
of a place where the sun falls on my shoulders in
soft dappled patterns, a place where my hands
are free to be held, instead of dragging
old skeletons out of the dirt, instead of swallowing
pills just so that I can breathe.
I’m starting to hope that the places I’ve been are
a fading flicker on the way
to something better; and I’ve found
a certain something that sits in my stomach like an antidote
to all the anxiety I used to consume.
The best part is that all of these things
I have a tendency to drudge up are just there, they don’t
possess me like they used to
they don’t make their home in me anymore and they don’t
rattle their skeletons against my ribcage when I breathe.

I’ve learned that the softest remedies can be found
during the lowest of lows; I’ve found
that the truth to the madness is never
going to be where you are searching for it.
Written by
KM Hanslik  20/F/Ohio
(20/F/Ohio)   
246
 
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