remnants
isn’t it curious
how desperately we try to leave ourselves behind
our lives are nothing but filling up vessels
hoping that something (someone) can contain us completely
and us, the source,
flowing until our very last breath
isn’t it curious
how desperately we try to leave ourselves behind
our lives are nothing but filling up vessels
hoping that something (someone) can contain us completely
and us, the source,
flowing until our very last breath
looking at their hands
pressing at their callouses
digging into their skin
praying they’ll be gentle with you
and that these hands will show mercy
these hands won’t hurt you
looking at their hands
tracing their lines
telling a story
looking into their past
and trying to figure what came before you
these hands are still unfamiliar to you
what have i remembered?
in my seventeen years of life
many things, surely
walking on dirt roads in a summer haze
with the people i love
the split second of fear
that crosses my heart
before i enter a stage
the triumph that radiates through me
when i finish my performance
the sweetness of my ice cream after dinner
the gripping frustration
that comes with lates nights spent over essays, homework, testing
the warmth of falling asleep
after laughing, smiling, and dancing
until blisters lined my feet
both the good
and the bad