Tell us about the farthest you’ve ever traveled from home.
Photographers, artists, poets: show us DISTANCE.
When you’re miles away from home
And everything is so strange that
You need to cry alone
And when you sit
Next to them and they
Look away and so do you too
You feel the distance; they’re distant.
When you’re arguing your side of the story
But they refuse to understand, and
Instead re-repeat their side for
At least the seventh time,
Or better still:
Just to get to rant,
You feel lip-quiveringly
Distant from them. And you feel
Like crying. And sometimes
You need something
To throw, anything that would
Make noise; Shatter into a million shards
And increase the entropy of the room,
Transfer it from inside of you,
Out. But you know that
This too shall pass.
So you don’t.
Instead you break
Something that won’t stay
Broken, or at least not visibly.
Instead you break the only thing that
Should be broken, deserves to be broken.
It’s just skin anyway. It can grow back.
The distraction and the abject relief
Sting and soothe together,
And sleep intervenes.
Is a new day
And it’s quiet.
The sky is clearer
And it may be bad,
And distances increase,
But they also do