It is not in silence that I feel alone:
the absence of voices
the deep black peace of night or
the tranquility of a deserted stretch of shore
...
There is proof of my life everywhere:
initials carved into tree's bark
songs i always sing along to on the radio
the tatterd books lying under my bed
...
It took the innocence of childhood
for me to wish to be an actress
a social worker
a doctor or author
...
In the restaurant, i watched her face
and my mothers by her side,
trying to see the similarities,
the swoop of their noses
...
when we planned our sleepover
it was meant to be just us.
...
hi. i'm not sure what to write. i guess you can find stuff out about me by reading my poems.)
Noise
It is not in silence that I feel alone:
the absence of voices
the deep black peace of night or
the tranquility of a deserted stretch of shore
with only
the wordless roar
of the wind and waves
But surrounded by meaningless chatter
my thoughts are pressed and pushed back
into the shadowy recesses of my mind
to sour, decay.
And when a stranger's shrill laughter
pierces like a needle;
and a million disjointed conversations
crowd me....
I am drowning
and the dark closes in on me once more.