They say I’m too self-absorbed to write poetry – but I only retreat to myself when the world blooms too much into my private space. I – whenever I am with myself, I serve nobody. I am in retreat. I refuse to be touched. In all ways, in all definitions. I am with myself to calm the fire coming out of the storm. Because me and my head, we aren’t exactly friends. We don’t even talk to each other that much. So I don’t expect to be understood.
Maybe something is wrong in my head. I haven’t gotten it checked. It’s not my fault it’s cheaper to pretend I have a superiority — or to shut up.
I always whisper “be with me” – every time I say “leave me alone”. I make sure it’s a soft, soft whisper. In my heart believe everyone has better things to do. And besides, it will take me forever to open up. That’s scary. I’m sorry it’s easier to think people who are gone to be still here, just so I could have someone to talk to. They don’t talk back – I don’t expect them too. Now that would be really scary.
I think about all the wrong things I’ve said all the time. Even the small ones. Especially the small ones. Not because I know how they took it, but because I don’t. But I know I think about the small things people tell me in passing years and years ago. I lose sleep because of them. That’s probably why I try to be careful with my tongue around people.
The thing about your thoughts is that you can’t run away fast enough to get away from them. They always.. Catch up. More often than not they creep in your dreams. After a while you just accept they’re a part of your unconscious self, else you won’t get any sleep. You tire yourself hearing yourself.
Some nights, that’s the only way you can get some sleep.