7.15.12

Sometimes I find old pieces tucked away in the recesses of this blog. Pieces of writing. Pieces of me, of my past self. Unpublished and hiding from readers — readers known and unknown — because I fear the judgment. But time passes, memories fade, wounds are no longer fresh. And so I do not fear the judgment. I do not fear being misunderstood. Because that piece of me, that past self, is even misunderstood by my present self. And so, here is one such piece, from March 2011.

"Can't Sleep" by e.gosney

I couldn't sleep last night.
I could hear myself breathing.
Slow.
Deep.
Melancholy.
Barley audible above the sound of my heart
smashing upward into my ribs.

I couldn't sleep last night.
I could hear my heart pounding.
Fast.
Hard.
Angry.
Surging blood into my aching arms
that squeezed the dense air.

I couldn't sleep last night.
My arms were sore.
Lifeless.
Burning.
Heavy with regret.
With wondering.

My mind knew reason.
My heart knew emotion.

But my arms, they were left ignorant.
Lost.
Alone.
They couldn't see reason, nor process emotion.
Like a child screaming for solace, but left orphaned in a dirty street.

No amount of reason can fully dismiss
the stinging truth of emotion.
Of what the heart feels,
of what it sends coursing through the frail body at any time.
At all time.

Rock beats scissors.
Scissors beat paper.

The body bruises, oozes, clots.

Paper beats rock,
but only by masking.
By covering.
By pretending.

I couldn't sleep last night.
I could hear too much.
Feel too much.
Think too much.

See.
So.
Awfully.
Much.

-eg

2 comments:

  1. Seriously, you have a beautiful gift! Your way with words is incredible and everything you write is wonderful. Good work!

    ReplyDelete