The thought of flying alone makes me
Stick my hands in my front pockets
For hours.
Ticket; check.
Luggage; check.
Headphones to block the voices
Of strangers, I do not want
To know where you are going
Or what you are leaving.
I do not want to know how much more
Poignant your sorrow,
Your excitement.
I ride sound waves.
I ride the beats of
People I will never meet and
Forget those I have left behind forget
In a few short hours I will
Cry into my father’s arms I will
See the one face that makes
Me
Palms up and empty
Ready to touch railings again.
Oct 12, 2012
Oct 12, 2012 at 2:42 AM UTC
The thought of flying alone makes me
Stick my hands in my front pockets
For hours.
Ticket; check.
Luggage; check.
Headphones to block the voices
Of strangers, I do not want
To know where you are going
Or what you are leaving.
I do not want to know how much more
Poignant your sorrow,
Your excitement.
I ride sound waves.
I ride the beats of
People I will never meet and
Forget those I have left behind forget
In a few short hours I will
Cry into my father’s arms I will
See the one face that makes
Me
Palms up and empty
Ready to touch railings again.
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