Chunks

I call the following poems “chunks” because they were started a few years ago with an intention to expand or re-visit, but were abandoned:

I followed the arrow toward everything I told myself
I never would have wanted –
and not because I didn’t want it,
but because we are only supposed to want what we settle for.
I watched it pierce the protective layer of that exhaled breath,
and endured the sudden aspiration of everything I’d been
filtering out for years.

Everyday, I feel more and more like
one day I’ll go to speak but
nothing will come out and
people will say “I don’t know what happened.
One day, she just stopped talking.”

Everyday, I feel more and more like
my feelings are wrong and
unless they somehow serve
your best interests
it’d be best to keep them to myself.

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