Meri Simonyan
Stories (1/0)
Inconsistency
i never know how to start. this. if i could i would just take you right to the feeling i am in right now, i would show you the color i see, the physical pain i feel, the smell around me, on me, in me. i would take you there, if i could. i swear i would. so that you could shut up and just get my being. maybe you would tell me that everyone gets through stuff and it's all good. it's all g-o-o-d, i am pronouncing every letter quietly. the thing is, i am not suffering, i basically have no worries. this darkness or whatever this is (possibly i am clueless) makes me grudge because of my life, the choices i've made, the places i went to, the faces i touched, the men i wrote poems for, the good people i left. the silly little things that brought me here. to the internal hate of who i am and who i could be. i would revise every little choice; and my life would be consistent. we'd meet, you'd get to know me, i'd talk a lot. about my job at some cliché racist company, we'd get married, have kids and we'd just go. we'd become the eternity and we'd be free. does this make sense to you? you see, i am not satisfied with my life, because i am tired. of constantly fighting for my wings. it's that simple and it's all g-o-o-d. there is something about monday's taking me to a different place of madness and pettiness. why am i calm? why am i silent? monday's, they are like that. you wouldn't want to see me on a monday, i'm blurred, hoodie on, bleak eyes, and no compassion to anyone or whatsoever. i would not care. especially right at this moment. i pulled you all to pieces. and threw these pieces away.
By Meri Simonyan6 years ago in Poets