What Moves You?
Movement is a cosplay of life
To feel what you’ve always wanted too
To feel what you hoped you’d never have too
To live an experience unlike your own
To be something you could never own
Its relieving to slip out of one’s skin for a while
Somedays it’s comfortable
The skies seem bluer, the sun more radiant, your dreams more attainable
Somedays it’s too tight
The world seems darker somehow, you can’t seem to escape your head, and you hurt more than you can justify.
Somedays it’s too loose
Floating about, unfocused, presence lack.
You wonder did I earn this or did I ride a wave meant to bring me there
How can I conceal the drift or can I bring back the focus.
Somedays it’s slowly roasting
A prickling sensation, guilt over losing control
That you never had in the first place.
A lash, disrespect, shutting down.
Did they deserve your lash?
Did they deserve that disrespect?
Did they deserve the distance? The silence?
Perhaps the walls protect your ego
Or maybe, it’s your refusal to say what bubbles beneath
Tamp it down.
Somedays it’s crawling
Horrible tickling, unreasonable itching
Tears trickling, frustration crippling
I’ll tamp it down.
With words, say little. The guise of listening in actuality drowning pensively
The excessive energy, slipping through cracks in any way shape or form possible.
Perhaps self-deprecating jokes, feigned stupidity, antsy legs repeating routines done thousands of times, swinging, jumping, pacing, shoulders circling, thousands of nonsensical questions.
Somedays it’s translucent
Barely there, but highly aware
Like a child, using their hands to make a telescope
Selective Focus
Sharpen the task, dim the world.
Focus on the few things you cannot black out.
This goes to the wayside
They fall off the wagon
He is relegated to another day
She is postponed till the future.
Until a mood hits.
Until energy and benevolence seem to seep through.
Now, I have the time.
Now, I have the capacity.
Somedays it’s just a covering
You live through the highs and lows
You laugh when you remember your own stubbornness
In the everyday living nothing is quite so dire
You still cook breakfast
You still wash the dishes
You sleep
You wake up
You go to work
You sweep the floor
There’s dirty laundry
Things break
You forget to reach out
But
Somedays that’s just life.
A Poem By L.V. Roy