Unconventional
Free Verse
I have dressed in jobs and cities,
been with people and women,
changed frequently;
grown my shadows,
in places and
unknown.
I have tongues
twenty-eight
and counting.
I don't speak in one,
or for one.
my syllables are
incomprehensible
to many.
I hate these days,
sitting in a chaotic void,
paralysed,
unsettling.
not even a luxury
to mope.
restless.
I hate — reading news,
people atop,
social media,
posts,
stories.
a vicious circle.
beautiful.
in the jaded days
of my life,
I have found
loving myself the most.
I dream all-day —
of throwing myself
into the air,
flying away with wild winds,
riding into the tunnel of the internet,
into the darkness of anxiety,
knowing all these times,
to come out into
the world obscure;
I feel this land,
somehow,
I have been here before.
calm.
running along with the mustangs
in the meadows.
go fishing.
falling into the valleys,
yet able to touch the sky.
listening to seagull's cry,
watching the embers die.
I hate to wake up,
next day,
crossing the days
on my calendar.
