COMMUNITY
I am not wrong to say it,
As if I am practising my First Amendment,
Without a shadow of a doubt in my voice,
I am lost in this search, yet I still am.
It looks like holding those close even closer,
Like tying my wrists to theirs until we can’t breathe,
For the ones I can’t hold in my arms, I hope
These ropes enshrined in fate work just as well.
Burn and constrict my arms, I will
To say that my search for home is not fruitless,
As if it is supposed to mean something to die,
By asphyxiation on soul ties,
It looks like the straw of a drowning man,
As the water that fills his lungs finds home,
For if he is to learn to scream it out,
Not many would catch the loneliness,
To speak a language that plays familiar to ears,
On the receiving end of this broken telephone,
I’ve been trying to find the right words to say,
Without disfiguring my self-image,
Hoping that these edges I chipped at to perfection,
Help me to fit in more perfectly,
As if that even matters,
In community.
~Frankhie
