Rest, Disorder
My choice is clogged; an expressway, a pore, a toilet
but my ventricle is free and clear;
a car’s title, paid off mortgage, suckers at the bank
I am flippant despite everything, marvel at my successes while I fail suppressing
all the ways I lose
yet still adorn my hunchback shoulders with the loser’s cloak
as if it should earn me a prize, cocky and alone
The downfall is nightfall, submerged submarine, flooding fast
The lung of it at capacity with the sting of murky seawater, my open mouth heaving northward kissing, grazing the sub’s ceiling
the singe of claustrophobia gradually filling me
plugging up my ears, choked
By morning the vessel is parched and still; incidentally, I’m still breathing
between him and me, there is minimal mention of midnight
No matter how hard you try and shake me
No matter how firm a grip you think you have on my shoulders
I go on with the day, reconciling the night, again forever,
with unshakeable fervor
~
The poetry I write tends to be personal and confessional. Coupling humor with melancholy, I look at my world and address and reflect on incidences, unique to me, around memory, loss and longing, coping, partnership and family. Despite being based on my own experience, I think they are largely inhabitable due my attempts at vulnerability and authenticity. I am a rising senior studying photography.