Two Oh Sixteen

Me and another me. A description of an absence from a place and from a self.

I watched a film at the beginning of this month by the same person who changed my perception of a steel box. 

There was a girl who did something unforgivable, but her reflection did it different. And I didn’t cry because I don’t think I fully understood what it meant. But now I do, and I can’t stop thinking about her.

I never thought of myself as a poet. I never liked the word for myself. I was always more interested in people and why; in the way they moved, and what they went home to; whether it was the glowing cherry of a cigarette, or the laughter of another. I always called myself an observer; an introvert.

I write and write, until I tear myself dry and there are slanting words that don’t make sense and blue ink all over my fingers. I will give you an entire galaxy, or not a single star at all.

I wake up and see a hurricane in my dirty specked mirror which I'm too tired to clean. Yesterday I was me, but today I don’t know what that is, and tomorrow I am her.  But her - is she me? I start too many things only to leave them half untangled. I say I am too many things only to find out I was wrong. I said I wasn’t those things, only to find out that I am all of them. 

What a year of halves, because I could never let go of one end. Because I want to hold all of it. I want to keep everything inside. I want to remember every single detail; how I told her I’ll stay; how I told him he’ll always have me, even though I knew that nothing truly lasts. Not love, not flowers; not laughter, not grief.

I hope that the things we see in cinema do come true on another plane. I hope that my mirror image does it different. I hope she is forgiven. 

I hope she unravels it all; the whole thing, and create a beautiful picture with it. And god I hope her words will charm, and I will get to meet her.

We’re always writing about how two people; mostly a man and a woman, meet and fall in love. But we never write about a woman and a woman; me and another me, meeting, and growing to love each other like a garden that never dries.

Author's Note

I've been absent for a while. I'm not sure what that means; I'm not sure what anything means, but I think this is a somewhat perplexing, half explanation about why I haven't been here -- and a very cryptic way of saying that I might not be posting "poetry" anytime in the near future. What I might be sharing is metaphorical excerpts, similar to that above, from my life. I love description, but my life feels overwhelmingly descriptive enough that I have no time to process how all that makes me feel. Something like the above is a somewhat product of a feeling, or rather; multiple feelings mixed into a chaos.

Happy holidays. I hope you are all doing well.

Reviews

[TerryDarcy-Ryan akaSh..]

Alice Poe'sy, your words have life I could visualize your struggle , anxiety and confusion. This is very good it entertains the reader with visual content and builds to a most complex place where I am left questioning what ? Beautifully pinned.

Sheer Terror

[Cyprian Van Dyke]

Hooked, your writing had me. It was all well explained. It kept me well entertained. Great imagery and feeling!!! Sad to hear you're going through hard times. But know that you're not alone. Keep writing, you're so good at it. Hugs

[Valentine]

Not so much a poet, more a story teller which is fine to be. Valentine