Becoming.

by Poet on the Piano   Nov 25, 2020


Last night, I looked in
the mirror, and wasn't
assaulted by my past.
Blue-gray irises softened
by the acceptance of
winter and dreary goodbyes,
lavender and sage tracing
skin that was once a synonym
for irreparable injury.

Though we're quarantined
together, this house has
not yet buried me in passive
aggressive flairs of anger.
I've made temporary
peace with all the ways
it has rendered me not enough,
and I no longer hate the
walls that were painted over
to a fix a naive heart.

I can't recognize myself
in all the usual ways,
and maybe, that's not
a bad thing.

6


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Latest Comments

  • 1 month ago

    by Michael

    Wonderful and sad as ever MA. There are many positives (as well as the negatives of course) that this whole situation has brought in some way or another.
    I love the way you have penned this, with much emotion and depth.
    Take care M :)

  • 1 month ago

    by Mr. Darcy

    This sounds like a necessary step has been achieved on a journey to become whole.

    Very nice work.

  • 1 month ago

    by Ben Pickard

    '...tracing skin that was once a synonym for irreparable injury' - pure poetry that, MA. In fact, this poem is full of wonderful metaphors and turns of phrase.
    Sad, I suppose, when the person you don't recognise in yourself is the happier version of events, but certainly peaceful, if only temporarily, as you yourself write.

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