October 19 2013

Peter Smith (20)

Sometimes the breath expires before entering the lungs. Sometimes I stand, hypoxic, mouthing regrets. How I hated my inner child white knuckled and fearful in the crux of my ribs. I ignored her and she poisoned me steadily from within. It has been a long time since I’ve emboldened a dream. Arms and legs umbilical cords, driven deep into the soil. I want the sky unadorned. I want for a moment’s clarity but the clouds, with their macabre facades, remain adrift in landlocked blues. You lean on me a little more than you used to. I do not guard quite as much as before. Sometimes my shoulders sulk, freedom is heavier than I thought it would be. There is so much more to growing up than years spent.


Sometimes I wish I could be achromatic. Monastic in my resolve. Engorged on transcendental fruit. Instruction manual tucked into a metaphorical pocket. I can never be further along than I am. I drape myself in your scent and thank the universe for what I’ve been given. The struggles don’t seem the least bit meaningless when I stand beside you. Whatever tragedies my life has composed, in this moment, I am happy where I am.

2 responses

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s