Thought Disorder

I’m walking down a rundown street
A street with broken gravel and patches of soil
Invaded by yellow weeds

Yellow weeds like the kind that once grew among my mother’s flowers
Flowers, flowers, roses, and jasmines,
and jasmines, and gardenias on the balcony where I used to study for hours

Study all day and sometimes into deep night
Night, past midnight when I’d put down my pen
and have a staring contest with the hanging moon

The moon that would shine down in agreement as I’d listen, listen, listen to Gregory
Gregory who wrote sad,
Sad songs that for some reason made me happy

Happy at a time where everything seemed to be falling into a dark hole
Hole, dark hole, cold hole that seemed to grow bigger every day, deeper every day
That I had been climbing out of for so long that my fingers felt numb, numb, numb

The same five fingers that I used to write this poem
This poem that feels red, that I have been writing in my head ever since
Ever since I realized, I realized, I became self-aware

Self-aware of my failures, of my insecurities, of my weaknesses
Weaknesses I had never thought I had had, I had never
thought I would have. Loose strings in my heart

My heart that I pulled out, I pulled out and washed out
I washed out and squeezed, squeezed this fluid, this juice out
and out came this poem, this rhythm, this, this verse that I am now reciting to you

You who are listening to this, digesting this, breathing this in
then going back to your lives
Those lives that have brought you all up to this exact moment

This moment, the moment we are sharing here, together you and I
Together feeling, feeding, together
listening, living, together breathing now

Together for this moment and then forever apart

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