Home > Poetry, prose > between the shadow and the soul*

between the shadow and the soul*

The words sit in my stomach like stones, slick and without edges. Because of this, all my notebooks are filled with silences. They are blank with emotion. The pen – my favorite one – has gone dry. I try not think about, or overthink, its significance.

My patience is a shadow that dances, Pan’s fierce counterpart. It is the promise of trouble, ignored. A lie I tell myself in order to forget what I want. This is me, trying to give you what you need. I have swallowed everything, and it was not by accident. Nothing is without purpose, even though these careful transitions ache.

I smile so that no one notices.

It is my best trick. It is my last defense. I wait.

 

*shamelessly pilfered from Neruda

Categories: Poetry, prose
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