i am full of an odd regret
as though all the decisions i have made are in stone
like the sword in childhood stories
my movements are stuck in time with no hero in sight to release
it’s kind of a homesickness
absorbing memories and channeling them right back
in a shade of blue melancholy
the word that’s always reminded me of cough drops
and what is it that i am missing? what is this longing?
a norm? my past? that twisted sense of loss only after loss?
because, of course, your grass is never green enough
the following of hidden role models
endless blame with no source
and so i always want to cry
and so i always feel hot with incompetence
i cannot trust my future self — or so I feel —
to carry on my past self’s desires
which is quite alright, until the newer future self catches up
with its original plan. i never know what i want
i’m always hungry for something
but i try and quench the growl with gratitude
that’s what my mother told me
but I don’t wish for that lifestyle
and now we’re back to the melancholy
the caramels in golden wrapping
in my grandmother's crystal bowl
above my grandfather's collection of historic literature
whose contents can be devoured no longer by his eyes, words too small
my grandmother’s hands don’t work
so now the oven is used to store bowls instead of bake garlic naan
i know such sweet creatures are a mirror into an ultimate future form of myself
and it won’t matter which second i did or said what
and periods of longing and grief will seem like specks
reflections in my rearview mirror already light-years away
the guilt only follows such realizations
and now my stomach is eating itself
or perhaps i merely feel my stomach in my throat
regardless i am uncomfortable
or at least a feeling of “okay, i am okay”
prguitarman
kianamaiart
titsay
s-u-f-j-a-n-s-t-e-v-e-n-s
izzy806
andulkaphoto
gummygunk
dailybridgerton