I've been on hiatus–nothing you couldn't have deduce from my archive history–for a couple of months in pursuit of my education. The short of it: I am learning to suffer. The long of it I shall attempt to type out soon.
On another completely unrelated note: hence forth, consider my title capitalisation literary blasphemy or a reference to E. E. Cummings decapitalisation of i's. Truth be told, the sharp edges of title capitalisation bothers me. I have no idea why. Perhaps I am compensating for... something... Clinical psychiatry may answer that question... Or I'm simply rambling and all this is a distraction.
Well, go on, poem down below.
The clicking of typewriter keys
have faded, and the ledger scribbling
ceased, and the sound of laughter
muted by heavy textbooks and headphones
tuning the rest of the world out lest I
decide this isn’t worth pursuing anymore.
This is my life now: stethoscope
amplifying your heartbeat while
tuning out what makes your heart beat
I am trying,
convincing myself, spitting
theories of delayed gratification, consoling
my weary heart
wants out, wants
anything but this, but
the heart is treacherous if it is consulted
for anything but its beating.
This is my life now: white coat wrap
dreams from reality’s biting cold, orphan
leave them on empty doorsteps, and ring the bell.
Someday, I will be back for you
when you have grown
aware of your worth, reject the birthright of my
arms when I finally have enough strength to hold you.
You have the right to.