Dainty at the docks,
I am surrounded by space and spirits.
Reading tarot for Pocahontas,
while I wait for this new world to make sense.
Boats go to and fro,
freedom, so temptingly close.
I could go,
over the barriers and into the waiting water,
onto a boat,
to wherever she goes,
Summer is a siren,
reflecting in wasted waves,
vanishing when my fingertips pass through her domain,
and I start to wonder if she was ever really there,
if I could ever hear her songs,
or if I was just losing my mind.
Like that time when I was twelve years old,
in my mother’s home town,
on a ferry, crossing the Mersey,
living in a song,
because the world outside the notes and chords carried too high a cost.
I often wonder what it would feel like to feel nothing at all.
I feel like maybe I’d be happier that way.
Of course, I wouldn’t know that I was happy,
because I couldn’t feel it,
but the longing would be long gone,
and God, I think the emptiness might feel a little bit beautiful.
Oh, but God,
you gave me a heart (that has torn in every way),
so, here I stay,
in a constant state of something I can’t explain,
just… a state,
with no escape,
fantasising about freedom,
but always being landlocked.
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