(ps. this is better if you read it out loud)
I don’t feel like I’m alive.
Read that again.
I don’t feel like I’m alive
And I’m not sure I’m the only one that’s this way.
I have a sneaky suspicion that you
Feel the same.
You poetry writer, you sad song player,
You long lost prodigal Beater
You painter, you drinker,
You yellow stained toothed thinker
You story weaver, you beauty seeker
Like WE are not
Like our muscles do no clench under the load of one another
Like our bodies do not throb from the longing to be with love
Like our eyes do not ache from candles burning at both ends
And our feet do not burn and then callus and then walk on
Like our voices do not moan and sigh like the Aspen tree out my front door