Fragments of poetry = more incomplete thoughts which read like prose

I’d like, to stand at the base of Everest like I did not much over a year ago
to see the mineral infused, crystallized, iced over Emerald City
and to recreate the sensation of being smaller than my ego, my sadness, my dreams,
and the longevity of problems the world has yet to face.

I’d like, to lie down on the incline that heads toward my house
feeling the vibration of determined, destined, wheels,
letting pebbles dance against my skin while lungs inhale
rising dust and the after-smell of rubber on potholed asphalt.

I’d like, to feel crumbs of rooftop cement on my back
concealed in star scattered silence,
kissing back the abysmal blackened blue dusk
playing cloudy hide and seek with the man in the moon vs. the rabbit I’m prone to see.

I’d like, to lose myself in headphones
the solitude of music and a distant voice
running through dessert cracks of me, tracing scars of memories
bringing me wherever I want to be, all alone.

I’d like, to crawl into the comfort of my closet
an (almost) grown woman hugged by the darkness of armless sleeves
finding escape and a tiny enough space
to hold all the contradictions, masks, and complexities, of me.

I know it’s common to want things you can’t have,
to long for places you can’t be,
but the desires of my heart are not so expensive, not so impossible, not so entirely, completely,
out of reach.


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