21

21

Because I don’t know what common sense is anymore –
Or if I have it,
Or if I want it.
Everything feels up in the air, like chairs and boards flying around inside of a tornado.
You want to reach out and grab it like you’re anchored to the ground,
But you’re a silly human and you should know better.
21
is not an age,
But rather a dislocation, a transformation,
An enraged discomfort without reservations.
The only thing that helps me see clearly are these bright lights
Without them I am blind.
21
is not an age,
But rather my destination, I think, because I don’t know what I’m doing here.

Back to the drawing board.

M.

Sometimes I feel so incredibly, and terrifyingly alone.
Sometimes I cling to things like they’re my last breath.
Sometimes I feel like my whole life people have been keeping secrets from me, that I’m really just a crazy person and everyone’s in on this plan to make me feel normal.
Sometimes,
we all go a little mad.

Poetry

Mandy Joy Poole View All →

Writer and photographer from remote Labrador, Canada. Just another cold Labradorian chillin' in the Big Land. Can most likely be found walking my dog Grace or behind an iMac screen slowly taking over the interwebs.

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