*I think of it as coming
back to myself,*
like a second cousin
visiting from the states
As if I'm waiting in
the airport terminal,
hands full of sweat
and a note stapled to my chest
*I can't remember when
I first became a space to be filled,*
an empty vessel floating
in between the veil
But I'm starting to feel
like more of a splutter
than a storm,
and it's moments like
this that make me think God
is just ******* irresponsible
I find myself digging
for my sense of wonder
at the bottom of my music box,
like the folded ears
of a saxophone player,
sitting across the bar
As if I'll slide my hands
across the slime of my exterior,
slip back into my identity
like an old coat
While I tumble into the
empty bellyed passion
of a man with small hands
and an inability to say my name,
hoping I'll come across
my purpose for life
while drenched in his ***
Jul 3, 2017
Jul 3, 2017 at 12:32 PM UTC
*I think of it as coming
back to myself,*
like a second cousin
visiting from the states
As if I'm waiting in
the airport terminal,
hands full of sweat
and a note stapled to my chest
*I can't remember when
I first became a space to be filled,*
an empty vessel floating
in between the veil
But I'm starting to feel
like more of a splutter
than a storm,
and it's moments like
this that make me think God
is just ******* irresponsible
I find myself digging
for my sense of wonder
at the bottom of my music box,
like the folded ears
of a saxophone player,
sitting across the bar
As if I'll slide my hands
across the slime of my exterior,
slip back into my identity
like an old coat
While I tumble into the
empty bellyed passion
of a man with small hands
and an inability to say my name,
hoping I'll come across
my purpose for life
while drenched in his ***
