miss lonely -
a pine tree shot up from
the alligator-infested
currents that billow in
silk-like waves around the
trunk.
alone, she stood, surrounded by
chopped-down stumps that
sank further and further into the
marsh every day.
the photographer propped his
tripod on the coast looking out
on the lonely tree. he
saw the tears that she
cried for her lost friends,
hunted and taken from her
one by one, every day, until
the term
“forest” became simply
“trees,” and then the
s was hacked off until it was
“tree.”
so he came, with his camera,
and he captured her beauty
day after day until her
tears dried up, her leaves
blossoming flowers,
luscious leaves becoming
a deeper green than they had
been in months.
no matter how many times i
try and cut the habit,
stop chewing the nails off my
fingers, i can’t help the
sleepless nights that i spend
poring over books that will
someday - hopefully - teach me
how on earth i can reach out and
grasp something. some one.
and one day hopefully make
him want to be mine.
you brush letters onto my
forearms, painting words of
beauty, of grandeur;
euphoria,
tranquility,
solitude.
what even is solitude?
sol-i-tude.
(n)
“the state or situation of
being alone.”
positive or negative?
the connotations can be so
different.
so is it a matter of
if you like being alone
or not?
or what about your
true inner thoughts
on your own self-worth?
is it a fifty-fifty
thing? like your
mood in the moment?
does it differ depending on
what side of the bed you
wake up on?
for me, it doesn’t.
i like the quiet time,
the breathlessness that
comes with a
comfortable silence.
solidarity doesn’t have to be
lonely. because those
aren’t the same words.
there’s a feeling of
having noise-canceling
headphones suctioned to my
ears every time you talk.
and no matter
how many times i
pull and tug and
grasp and claw,
nothing can
remove them.
if i’m listening to music,
i’m not avoiding social contact.
truthfully, i’m just feeling.
feeling my thoughts
deeper and in verse.
maybe i’m even imagining
you coming up to
talk to me.