And Then.. You Turn Around
Which mask shall I wear today?
I seem to have
fallen
so deep
into
a hole (a trap)
so not-deep (so shallow)
it’s like
3 centimetres
(now I know how it’s possible to drown
in absolutely no water at all
and I know
what I must be)
the hole says
someone scratched it on the side
‘I may only write (poetry and poems and poetically)
for others (and not me)
cos they deserve it.
(but not me)’
seeing that
true but ridiculous assertion
description of what is true
(and hair-brained.. but true nonetheless)
I laugh (so maniacally)
and I breathe
a little sense
of relief
and I feel free
(three centimetres free
but it’s still
a bit more free
and my breath
comes
a bit more
easily)
I recorded this poem twice and I am fascinated to hear the difference. One sounds so sad and the other sounds much more positive. Above (at the top of the page) you will find the ‘positive’ version, below is the ‘sad’ version:
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