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Alek Mielnikow Apr 2020
My palms in my pockets jingle
the keys to my cave as I make
my way to wherever I’m going.
My legs propel me, and my feet
dodge cast-off gum and dog dung.

And on my head rests a fishbowl.

An extra load on my skull,
but I don’t mind. I rather
like this bowl. It gives me
a barrier, and though thin,
the glass has yet to crack.

I hear my voice resound,
bouncing around the tiny
space, and I smell my breath,
minty fresh and foggy, and
through the fog the world and
its creatures are phantoms.

When I’m addressed, it’s like
floating in frigid freshwater
as they call for me from
the sheet of ice above.
They suspect I’ve lost
my soul in the fishbowl,
yet as year after year
goes by, I feel just fine.

I am an astronaut taking
a space walk, drifting around
and watching the universe
unfold under a sheet of glass.

And when I close my eyes,
I am in a womb, or a coffin,
and I often can’t tell the
difference, nor find much
of a reason to tell.


-
by Aleksander Mielnikow
If you want to hear me read this poem aloud, check out my Instagram @alekthepoet !
Moth Jan 2020
hand against the glass
is it protecting me
from spilling all out
or am I a prisoner
drowning inside the bowl
Pyrrha Aug 2019
Telling someone who was raised to believe something to be one way that it can be another, is like telling a fish in a fishbowl about the oceans and their creatures.
Steve May 2016
There was a fish in a little round bowl
All on his own not in a shoal
And if that fish
Could have its wish
He'd say,
I shouldn't be here I'm a Dover Sole
Anabel Nov 2015
a ribbon of fire
a curl of lace
and your eyes swimming
in the fishbowl
of my heart
Nienke Mar 2014
swimming through my head
searching for the words you said
sometimes upwards, you try to swim
but i’ll always push back
when you wanna dim

why you’re so far away
all these things we’ve to pay
why can’t we be together in the rain
or just somewhere else, somewhere
on a hell-bound train?

it seems that’s the place to be
at least for us, not totally free
why do we deserve this
i’m asking myself all the time,
but i know today it’s fine

you’re living in my head
and also tomorrow won´t be bad
as you keep swimming around
i´ll prove it, once i’m a fish too
i´ll prove, you’ll be found
Kimberly Eyers Nov 2014
Divergence
Leads to-
Convergence.
James Funke
Told me
I was going to hate him.
I don’t hate you, long arms.
After I read those poems of yours
I cannot- willnot
Believe you wrote them
To drive me away.
Did you really write them?

— The End —