Baby Its North

Flat level, flat level, what have you done to me?

Extraordinary discipline has surfaced repeatedly. These walls, now transferring into a cage, hold me tight. Even when escaping into day break my mind flies through the memories of that place. To step back is to retrace. And just one step back leads to full embrace.

I hold my cage tight only because it is holding me even tighter.

Tired eyes, wearing sighs, consistent cries. Our battle starts fresh every morning. How many times have I spat at you my state of feeling alone? As many times as you’ve shrieked that this doesn’t feel like home. We’re skipping rocks on each other’s surface, and eventually they find a place to sink in. Physical cues more substantial than the initial feelings which are now linked thin.

The public, now a stage. The private, always a type of hell. And maybe that’s just as well.

Solitude amongst rotation. Shifting back and forth, slaps against cement, never to relent, sun on my face, then on my back, always waiting.

Street corner now my home, familiar surrounding of trash can made of stone, signs of metal, shadows of light, and night made up of cop sirens.

Moon on my face, then on my back. Always waiting, even though right not I’m running.

Street corner once again but this time there is another. Tugging and guiding a little rope, another tie now lingers.

Published by Anna Buck

"everything was beautiful and nothing hurt."

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