It is true that not all who wander are lost
But it is also true that
Not all who are lost want to be found

Or maybe I’m I just don’t think I deserve to be found
I feel to lost to be found
I am too far away from who you think I am
That if you knew
I would be a stranger to you

Wanderlust is such a romanticized term. It has such a beautiful air of brilliance. A word associated with travel and experiencing the best of life. What they don't tell you is the heavy side. The side where you can travel the whole world and still feel nothing. The part that feels aimless and empty. The dizzying feeling of dread that nothing will ever be good enough. If I can't find joy eating cacio e pepe in the heart of Rome, or exploring castles in Scotland, will I ever find joy? It makes you wonder why we wander when nothing seems to fill that hollowness in your heart. Not people, places, food, or things - nothing. Not only am I wandering the world but my soul also wanders for a place to rest, a place to call home. Nothing seems to fit. Nothing seems to feel right. Why am I cursed to wander when to most it is a blessing?



-t.s.

tell me how you want me to love you
in the ways you cannot love yourself enough
pressing my ear closer to your mattress
restless under your pillowcase
my teeth become something disposable by morning
your mouth begs to be fed before sunrise
lips parting for stale air between lulls in our interactions
as if saying something could make me breathe easier
knowing i will respond before i simply can't
i am expectant in the ways you clear my lungs
before lying in the bed you've made for us
tell me again how you want me to love you
in the ways i cannot love myself
to fill a void made for no one in particular
folding corners of my blanket back over each other
there is safekeeping in barricading thread count
fingers numb from pressing us together for too long
losing my grip on what reality i have succumbed myself to
tell me again how i have done this to myself
in the ways of tolerating your recklessness
pillows becoming somewhat of a buffer
for noise that concerns the neighbor at night
what good will yelling do if your body constantly screams
shouting for someone who left awhile ago
slipping out of your window at night
tell me how you want me to leave
in the ways you cannot tell me to
too afraid to make noise in a silent ballet
tiptoeing around uncomfortable conversations
dancing over select words in exchange
with the rhythm of my accelerated heartbeat
listening

My thoughts scatter,
There in the field, this is the earliest of days.

Natures music, the collective buzz
Blooms brilliantly as the farmers gather hay under lantern light.

Half shaded cornfields
Extending pass the mountains face
Beyond darkness
Beyond waste
Thy ego rolling away.

Talking next to you for hours
Turning cigarettes into flowers
Listening to the cricket's song
Can't sleep, awake all night long
Thinking of your, your voice, your heart
Being away from you tore me apart
Dancing by the lake
Moon's reflections shattered
Darling, I will wait,
You are all that matters
Found a plastic bag,
filled it up with violets
Listen to the sound
Of forgetting the violence
Streetlights
And store lights
Wandering with you
Darling how
I wish I knew
What I mean to you