Impoverished Sustenance
Smiling faces
and ears lent willingly.
Warm handshakes
and embraces — heartfelt
and genuine
Searching blindly for the reasons
why I am sweating
why I am out of breath
why the pressure in my skull
will not abate.
Alone with one’s thoughts
dry armpits and palms
lungs filled with air
mind emptied and still
my heart, spirit, and soul
yearns for and aches from
loneliness.
This poem is inspired by John P. Weiss’s beautifully direct piece on the poverty of loneliness.
Do you ever yearn for honest, interpersonal contact with others, but simultaneously dread that very same truthfulness for reasons you may or may not be able to articulate or admit? Then write about it. Write it, record it, and then burn it for fuck’s sake.
Let its effigy free you from unspeakable and perhaps unthinkable thoughts. Do not, however, let it remain in you, festering and spreading. You can do it.
Write.
American writer
