Poem #103

I could paint a perfect picture
of this ceiling I’ve been staring at
for hours. The lines, the imperfections,
the spider building a web in the corner.
Even the spider is building something and I’m
just stuck here with my empty head and
hollow heart.

It’s hard to have a vision for the future
when you don’t know where your present is headed.
It’s hard to fade in your early years, watching
your dreams getting further away with every step you
take thinking you’re making them reality.

From one crisis to the next, from one cigarette
to a whole pack, from one glass to a bottle,
from one day to another. Baby steps turning into
abrupt halts. Youth turning into ashes.

I want to take my little black dress for a night out.
I want to move to the sound of music.
I want to see those far away cities, go from one
plane to the next destination. I want to touch the
ocean and see the earth from above. I want to
feel the sand underneath my feet while sipping a
cocktail on a sunny beach but I’m here getting familiar
with the ceiling.

The earthquake beating in my chest
is an endless hallway and behind each door
is a story to be told with an unhappy ending.
Yes, an earthquake in my chest, because my heart
is miles away from me. I sold it for a ruined
fantasy but at least I gave it away. Thought it
would be easier.

It’s hard to put my feet on the ground each day
knowing they will take me on a quest of
imposed society rules while my soul is craving
something real, something alive, something different.

That thing, that happiness everyone talk about – where
is it hiding. How many miles, how many doors, how many
breakdowns and sleepless night away is it. It’s hard to be
young and so old. Full of energy and so tired. So alive and so dead.