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Oct 2019
I feel betrayed by the quiet moments;
they used to be my saving grace
the time I’d use to steel myself
for what comes next.
Today the quiet moments
are turning on a dime-
they’re fuel to continue driving
or they’re fuel to the flames.
Doesn’t help that the thought
of quiet conversation
makes me discretely nauseous
(they meant it as a promise
of relief!)

I’m floating in the quiet moments,
awash in time’s vast swell
aching bones a prize of attempt
a wordless, reasonless ache
that I wear tucked away inside my breast pocket,
in the marrow of my very being,
and tucked deep in the recesses of my mind.
Creativity, sure-
but useless pain is the easiest to write about.
...and the most difficult to present without it sounding incredibly overdramatic.
Written by
Christine Ely  mn
(mn)   
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