I am a series of
stories and stories and stories
I tell myself and others
secret truths and whole-hearted lies
until they are more me
than the skin I wear. Some
stories are collectively lost, looking
for a home. Some stories leap
with fists locked tight enough
to fuck, some stories weep
and unravel the fabric of my
baby blankets. I am desperate
for meaning. Something bigger
than my wild and precious, stupid
little life. Some context for my
bleeding throbbing heart and cunt
and dick. Some balm for
this ache of mortality, of perfect
imperfection. Take me on as your
protege, graveyard; take me on as your
benefactor, temple. I seek to build
monuments to and out of love. I seek
to make meaning. I seek to make
movements. I seek to sit still, to smile,
to blink, to put pen to paper, to tell all.
Shh, listen. My story has gone out
How To Unlearn Patterns
I am a series of
6 thoughts on “How To Unlearn Patterns”
this is beautiful.
“i seek to make meaning. i seek to make movements. i seek to sit still, to smile, to blink, to put pen to paper, to tell all.” this last part resonates so strongly with me.
as always, thank you for sharing.
I’ve been writing and reading poetry since I was 10 years old and this is just amazing. Felt very moved by this…especially the “I seek…gone out to play” section. Have always felt like it flows through me when I write and not just out of me. Seems like it is the same for all writers. ;)
I really, really love this.
I like the way it works spoken; lots of beautiful s’s there in the beginning. Sibilance for the win.
“My story has gone out to play”…so beautiful.
This is good stuff, Sinclair. Seriously good. Thanks for sharing it.