I think it’s funny

Maybe

To see that guy

This… guy

That I’ve never even met

But how our lives were paralleled

That he

Is dating the girl I loved

Love

Maybe

And I find it funny

Seeing him pop up

On my recommended feed

And as I scroll through his profile

Feeling the guilty bile in my throat

I don’t think I ever stood a chance

Maybe.

And so I stuck my fingers betwixt my eyes, in the area where the nose’s bridge ends and the eye begins. The pitter patter of the shower as it hit my skin lulled me to a familiar feeling of solitude, and presence within the mind. The water jumped from my vessel every which way as I rubbed the droplets out of my eyes. My body sagged with comfortable tiredness, as the water slowly rose in the tub, blanketing me as it went.

And sometimes

the happiest you can be

is sitting on your

grandparents’ porch

listening to those old

wind chimes sing.

To write a poem that reflects your essence, do not sleep.

Ask yourself what questions lay unanswered in your mind, what curiosities befuddle you about your existence. Think about these questions and go about your day as usual. Do the mundane and the crucial tasks that keep you busy in your waking moments, but do not sleep.

Do not sleep until you are tired - when your body surpasses exhaustion and only a desire for reprieve from the waking world begins to pull you. This should happen in the early hours of the dawning day, when others are already deep in slumber. Lay in your bed, close your eyes - but do not drift off into that other world until you ask yourself once more, what has been bothering you? What questions do you need answered? Think of this as you go, and when you wake, write what you can remember. See what answers you found, within your own wisdom come morning.

The places that I’ve grown up in

Have informed me of who I am

The tides of island waters

Have shaped me like the sand

I grew up like the skinny palms

My skin kissed by the sun

Birds of paradise greeted my window

And everywhere did I run

I’ve spent some time in humid suburbs

More than I’d like to admit

But it’s the times spent in nearby mountain creeks

To my memory, I do commit

The places that I’ve grown up in,

I have shaped them too

I took the oceans and the sands

The mountains and the little woodlands

And to my heart, I did imbue

I wonder then

Many have as well

What our purpose

In this world

May be

And yet

These wonders,

I wonder

Do they occur

To the common salamander

As she rests

Betwixt the underside

Of a rotting log

And the mossy ground?

No,

I don’t think they do.

So then,

Just as she - the tiny and color splotched salamander, does

Prancing her joyful dance on the forest floor after each fresh rain

Digging her soft fingers into the moistened ground for grubs

Migrating from the water and wiggling to the forest and then back again

All the while these wonders occur outside her musings

Just as she,

So too will I