Hope Is Many Things

A poem

Alexandria Roswick
Know Thyself, Heal Thyself


Photo by Lina Trochez on Unsplash

A daydream,

a delusion, a drug.

A rule, a rhyme,

a reason to live fully.

A shining north star, misplaced map.

A shooting star, missed, transfixed by a screen.

A slippery slope slathered in sunflower oil, slide, bliss to madness.

A frantic moth, delicate wings, wait, hands cupped, trap, hold tight.

The fragrance of homecoming and homecooked meal, pace the tile

with blistered feet, fork on standby. Butter pad in a pan with garlic and

herbs, spreading waves of gold, into chestnut. In one blink, one look away.

Look back, find bitter black, curse the stove. Throw stones, throw phone.

It’s soaring high as butterfly. Faith, trust, pixie dust, until happy thought

escapes. Floundering into riptide. Missed the rocks because

belief still blesses you. Search the current for algorithms.

It’s unsatisfactory, unrealistic, unhealthy goal setting.

Cozy as a cup of pea soup on your allotted sick day.

Impossible as meeting your deadlines tomorrow.

A word misunderstood, misused, misrepresented.

It can be manifestation, motivation

and stagnation —

and all three.

It’s heaven ‘til

it’s heartbreak.


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Alexandria Roswick
Know Thyself, Heal Thyself

Top Writer in Feminism. Blogger for Say It Loud Space (UK). Trauma, relationships, and analysis of media and culture. https://linktr.ee/alexandriaroswick