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wave-breakPoems
It’s been awhile since I looked around here, at the hats, at the socks, at the tv, at the books, at the chair and the bed, the pandas and the globe, the mirror in the bathroom, and the boxes in the closet. there’s something odd about all this ordinary stuff, even if at one time it didn’t feel ordinary like this computer I type on now, at one point it was a foreigner to both this space and my fingers and yet there are hidden things too, even they feel ordinary, now. maybe you have something you hide? like: the letters from lovers, the diaries in drawers, the drugs you keep secret, or the obsessions you wish to hide I have stuff to hide (though none of it’s on that list) no, what I hide is much closer, much more dangerous but harder to find than anything in here everything about my life is strewn about this room and I look at it all with fresh eyes I count it all up and think perhaps this is my whole life except for a few things; those I keep locked up in my mind those things like: what I really think, how I really feel, why I really write this poem, and where the key to my heart and mind really lies
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May 4, 2010
May 4, 2010 at 12:35 PM UTC
What's really in there? (My Room)
It’s been awhile since I looked around here, at the hats, at the socks, at the tv, at the books, at the chair and the bed, the pandas and the globe, the mirror in the bathroom, and the boxes in the closet. there’s something odd about all this ordinary stuff, even if at one time it didn’t feel ordinary like this computer I type on now, at one point it was a foreigner to both this space and my fingers and yet there are hidden things too, even they feel ordinary, now. maybe you have something you hide? like: the letters from lovers, the diaries in drawers, the drugs you keep secret, or the obsessions you wish to hide I have stuff to hide (though none of it’s on that list) no, what I hide is much closer, much more dangerous but harder to find than anything in here everything about my life is strewn about this room and I look at it all with fresh eyes I count it all up and think perhaps this is my whole life except for a few things; those I keep locked up in my mind those things like: what I really think, how I really feel, why I really write this poem, and where the key to my heart and mind really lies
wave-break
Written by
wave-break
American
May 4, 2010
May 4, 2010 at 12:35 PM UTC
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