Prosetry!
As promised: Random prosetry!! (That's prose/poetry, which is a term I coined after writing this hybrid.) In other news, happy Saturday. Very happy indeed. Good night, moon.
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Nothing fits right anymore. My jeans are sagging. My feet are dragging. I’ve got my face to the floor, peering in between the boards, and I spy what you’re thinking.
Now my key won’t fit the lock. I can’t get my sneakers off. I’ve grown longer than my bed. My brain is bigger than my head. The vast white sky overwhelms my tiny space of sadness and I am still trying to tack the right words to the corkboard with a pushpin that’s bigger than I am.
Straining through my teeth, the truth got caught. Can you hold me close enough to read my thoughts? I’m a liar; thank your stars I never hold a job for long. A new day will dawn and maybe this won’t feel so wrong. I’ll tilt my head and throw one back, scrap the Kleenex for a laugh. I’ll recall a well-worn melody that doesn’t taste like coffee beans, a song that doesn’t steal my sleep.
I’m awaiting such a day when my eyes will open to the spangled way the freckles spark across the starry host. ‘Til then I am threadbare, hackneyed, right down to the kernel of me: so this is what it means to be a ghost.
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p.s. This needs a title. Ideas?
3 comments:
"Growth of the Night"
Very nicely written, darling.
"Ghost" would be the easy title; I usually draw upon the prose(try) itself to find its proper title, so you can use small pieces of it. "Stealing My Sleep". "I Spy". "Thank Your Stars", or rather, "Thank My Stars", or even, "Thank The Stars". "The Kernel Of Me". "Space of Sadness". Etcetera.
Some things are just meant to go nameless. And they sparkle in their unique lack of identity.
unsettled.
that's the feeling i get from this prosem. and if i was titling it, that's what i would name it.
good work, btw. you could at least call it free verse, if you ever had to use a formal category (as if free verse were formal ^_^)
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