I am sure that I am alive.
Certain I can feel the hot Louisiana air inside my lungs,
the sun so near, and seeping into my pale skin -
can hear people around me chattering away to one another.
I feel like a ghost.
Haunting through these streets
unfamiliar,
with situations
I know so well.
Comfortably settling into my sadness,
busy streets are so much the same
anywhere you go.
Surrounded by everything, and still so damn alone.
The way I ought to be.
I need this sadness and lonliness
to find my worth.
Where has it been buried?
What city have I left it in?
Which address?
At the bottom of some shoe box,
smothered by theatre tickets and programs,
birthday cards, and burned CDs.
Traipsing, trailing, silently behind me
all these years, waiting for me to remember when I loved myself.
Waiting.
Waiting?
Why were you waiting?
Why didn't you crush me?
That weight of necessity!
You SAW my sadness these years!
Why did you wait? Why are you still waiting?
I'm here! I'm so close,
we are staring one another in the face
like some odd stand-off,
fingering the guns digging into our hipbones.
And I know you are as afraid of me,
I've stranded you before.
And you know how terribly lost I am.
What's the secret?
That that special collection of words or thoughts we can arrive to
so I can free myself.
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