I follow my shadow around
when it’s dark enough for me
to not even be able to recognise it
I’ve been writing empty letters these days,
tracing my fingertips
to the sound of my heartbeat,
my heart beats to the music
that I’ve never heard before.
to the silence of waking up to a sunrise,
that whispers my name,
until I can’t hear another word,
until every other word feels incomplete,
until I can’t string sentences together,
I’m a phrase,
lost in between,
unspoken silences
and conversations that mean too much
but are too little.
I colour my silhouette a
lighter shade of dark purple,
until the ocean drowns it away,
And I count
wave,
after wave,
after wave,
of it being submerged into the horizon.
The ocean does not leave traces behind.
My heart does.
It beats in a pattern that reminds me
of the chords of the first song
I ever played on my ukulele.
My fingers flirt with the strings,
tiptoe like they’re escaping a fire,
slow dancing with their ashes,
until I’m deaf to the tunes I play
and every tune I play
reminds me why I’ve
forgotten how to play
tunes anymore.
_my heart beats to the music that I’ve never heard before
National Poetry Writing Month, Day 1.
#napowrimo
when it’s dark enough for me
to not even be able to recognise it
I’ve been writing empty letters these days,
tracing my fingertips
to the sound of my heartbeat,
my heart beats to the music
that I’ve never heard before.
to the silence of waking up to a sunrise,
that whispers my name,
until I can’t hear another word,
until every other word feels incomplete,
until I can’t string sentences together,
I’m a phrase,
lost in between,
unspoken silences
and conversations that mean too much
but are too little.
I colour my silhouette a
lighter shade of dark purple,
until the ocean drowns it away,
And I count
wave,
after wave,
after wave,
of it being submerged into the horizon.
The ocean does not leave traces behind.
My heart does.
It beats in a pattern that reminds me
of the chords of the first song
I ever played on my ukulele.
My fingers flirt with the strings,
tiptoe like they’re escaping a fire,
slow dancing with their ashes,
until I’m deaf to the tunes I play
and every tune I play
reminds me why I’ve
forgotten how to play
tunes anymore.
_my heart beats to the music that I’ve never heard before
National Poetry Writing Month, Day 1.
#napowrimo
