Spoiler! :
Poem 32
living forward - 4.25.18
(this was more of just a fun poem where I challenged myself to use... all of the words I had put down for my "inspo" - this is not a great way to make a poem since it ends up being a bit like dictionary soup, but it was fun to write!)
i remember still what it is to want to be older
i guess i still relate to the desires with little foundation in truth
and the limited veracity that comes with false hope
that longed to be wise or in control or maybe
rejecting a false gasconade in favor of vituperations
my aspiration was only ever to know who i am
but i'm learning this discernment is not entrusted with age
i find now that age seems to be a piacular offense
and i'm only 22, but i look for lines in my face,
or grey worn threads from my scalp,
and feel my feet sinking into the grave
and the ambience of death is almost fitting
because who has time, who has time, who has time
becomes a mantra, and i don't know where i'm going
so i have sworn off catoptromancy
because i'm not sure what i'm looking for
and i dread not recognizing the reflection
or worse, knowing it, and seeing something false.
with virulence i run away from this self-searching
then cling to who i've been with a ravenous greed
and memories sprinkle like blood from a aspergillum
yet i find no atonement or clarity in them.
so i bask in the luculent flames of birthday candles
and wish i knew whose face they illuminate
or what it means to be an adult,
or what it means to live
when you're still reconciling with having lived
where do two stones meet and give
where in the mist of a past that grows and shifts
can we ever grow into the other direction of eternity?
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