Molasses

“You could be a compass rare and so bountiful
You could be the opposing opinion
You could be the point of attraction bound to all
You could be the point of letting it go.”

Some nights
I miss the feeling of being lonely,
Confiding in Nai Palm
as she sings me my lullabies.

Some nights
I crave to tell myself that I am a relic
still filled with art, or a trinket
abundant with strength.

Some nights
I don’t really need words to pop up on the screen,
or someone to kiss me goodnight,
or to hold me to sleep.

Some nights
I don’t want to feel any hint of in-betweenness,
or the vulnerable charm of ephemerality.
The external world can be fatally beautiful,

but perhaps beneath every person,
there stands a warrior, waiting to bleed gold.
Don’t wait for others to help you fend for yourself.
You have your own armour, you know that.

 

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