Monachopsis

This piece of me sits alone

My words lurk in rusty corners

They don’t fit in a box

But they aren’t free just yet!

 

This ink that bleeds out my soul

Flows without direction

Each curve fills me up

Drowns me in drops of empty regrets

 

What category?  What genre?

What theme am I?

Am I that condescending voice

forever without -definition?

 

Why do these words need an indent?

Why a structure? Why a sentence?

Did I create this to fit in?

or is rarity my ascension?

 

This piece of me doesn’t know

Whether it is the lone drop in the sea,

Or a snowflake descending

Or is it just a desperate scream of the meek.

 

This piece of me doesn’t fit

the precious glass slipper

It is not stuck in a list

This piece of me…is just…me

monachopsis.png

http://www.dictionaryofobscuresorrows.com/post/36505968156/monachopsis

 

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