response to V

Back in the Days When I Was Young, I'm Not a Kid Anymore, foundphotoslj


19 years now she's sat in her metal chair,
the wheels are round and the spokes sometimes
resemble flower petals if you close your eyes and wish
the right way,
____other times, thin steel bars,
____other times still, metallic spider webs
____other times still still, the thin bruises of thin identities.

this is what she's wanted most: to be independent.
she's outgrown all of us, and we've outgrown her,
seems to be Fate's decided: coin's up clowns, now's the time if
any-time's the time...
(and i still know nothing about any or time
(and i'm still scared of both.

in short: that is why she is scared.
(and in her fear more brave than a dozen me's)

*___*___*

and questions always pile up. who are these invisible people who write their invisible lives out in elusive words that m.a.k.e. no sense? (to quote you) who are they and where do they live and what do their friends think of them, and is it always as smiley or as sad as they make it all out to be?

if no one asks... then... maybe i am nothing but these words. (invisible at last) (a ghost)
and if someone does... then....

*___*___*

NB:

i have not had my hand held in months.
we broke up a year ago.
6 months ago i saw her,
i kissed and was kissed
and could only look at her
by squinting because she was made of stars-
and all the other things
love does to our eyes,
and memory,
and lips,
and my hands:
unheld since
are soon to be the branches of
dusty trees
that breathe off shadow.

*___*___*

NB 2:

i cannot remember an idea of 'home'
i stumble when i walk-
gravity has chosen me (out of everyone) to let go of,
i occasionally float,
occasionally stumble...

(and the seconds tick on)