Category: Da Capo al Poetry

feels good to be alive

I wanted to end it all yesterday,
Have some sense of agency at least over one small aspect of my life,
But then I ate an ice cream and the end of the cone had more chocolate
Than I usually get,
So
I felt overjoyed!
Feels good to be alive.

For now.

I wanted to end it all yesterday,
I’ve had it with all these 23 springs and summers and autumns and winters
And springs and winters and summers and autumns
And winters and autumns and summers and springs
Of mental illness.
But then I went outside, rode my penny board
And the smell of the linden trees after a May shower
Enveloped me in a hug.
(Heavens know how touch starved I am.)
Feels good to be alive.

For now.

I wanted to end it all yesterday,
Pull the plug on this miserable existence,
But then I rode my bike on empty neighbourhood streets,
Saw the stormy clouds get a tint of peachy cotton candy sunlight
As the sun retreated in the face of impending doom.
Silver lining for a solid 150 seconds.
Feels good to be alive.

For now.

I wanted to end it all yesterday,
Silence the impostor claiming my bones,
Cut the strings pulling me every which way,
One day up for show, faking a smile,
The next hidden away in the dreadful box
Of self-consciousness, anxiety and it which shall not be named
(The skeleton in my closet).
But then I went to the park,
Sat on a wooden bench, feet drowning in concrete,
And looked to the sky,
Heard the vivacious trills of nightingales,
And the occasional crow cawing,
Interspersed with an ever so vibrant “cuck-oo”.
Feels good to be alive.

For now.

I wanted to end it all yesterday,
But there’s still
The small things in life.
Feels good to be alive.

For now.

– Patricia

I find comfort in small talk

Larger-than-life smiles
Spreading so easily on cordial faces with
Happy-go-lucky attitudes.
Only passing strangers chatting cheerfully for a while
Without the burden of being the main character.

For
If I could choose
I would much rather be
Not even the supporting character
But an extra briefly appearing on screen for 3.1557 seconds
With a smile on their face
Not having a care in the world
And always that: a passing figure seemingly content
Without having to dig deeper for a spectrum of emotions—
At the very most becoming “Woman with Dog #1.”

If I could choose
I would much rather be the stranger
Exchanging pleasantries,
Sounding like they’re in control and
Know what they’re doing with their life
Rather than be the main character,
Painfully self-conscious, always having to reach decisions,
Ruminating during every. living. moment.
Worried about not living my life to the fullest,
Facing the amalgam of one-second sand grains
Swiftly falling from the upper glass bulb of life
Into the lower half, weighing me down.

So you see,
No matter how superficial you may deem such conversations to be,
I find comfort in small talk.

– Patricia

Snowmen and Sandcastles

I built my snowman in the middle of winter—
It was January and I had found myself again:
Made of pure, untouched snow that had covered
The infertile dark soil of me who’d hit rock bottom.
I picked up two coals from the dirt that I lay in—
When I saw the grey skies opening wide,
When frozen tears started to cover me whole—
Daily reminders of where I had lain and
Binoculars for my journey ahead.
I shiveringly waited for the amalgam of ice crystals
To finish their slow waltz—breathe and count to thirty—,
Then I made my first snowball since I was eleven
And rolled it in the unstained ice feathers
Till I’d laid the foundations of my soon-to-be snowman.
Then followed the torso with a hole in the left side
(For spring is yet to come to offer me daffodils),
Then came the last snowball and I gave it eyes and
A grey-pebbled smile. And the carrot nose, of course.

I built my snowman in the middle of winter—
It was January and I had found myself again.
Then someone came along when I was finally sound asleep and
Knocked over my snowman and went on with their life.

I stayed up all night hopelessly waiting for a second snow.

I built my sandcastle in the middle of summer—
It was July and I had found myself again.
I’d been drowning in shallow waters and just as I’d surrendered
My body to the rip currents of the merciless sea,
New waves carried me ashore where I coughed up salt water,
My lungs screaming for air every step of the way.
I then lay there unmoving, blinded by sunlight,
Soaking up every last bit of warmth I could get,
Till it pierced my frozen veins and arteries, warming me whole.
I felt the gritty wet sand all over my body
And the sea waves numbing the pain.
I dug a hole to trap the sea water and
Dripped the wet sand off my unfaltering fingers:
All the beige and the brown and the grey of the numbness
Making up the castle of my long-lost fairy-tale dreams.

I built my sandcastle in the middle of summer—
It was July and I had found myself again.
Then someone came along when I was sleepily sunbathing and
Knocked over my sandcastle and went on with their life.

But you see
I now have more water and sand than meets the eye.

– Patricia

22

Another day comes to an end,
Another year of my life.
I look down at my hands again
And stare in desolation.

The life I build with these two hands
And with the power of my mind
Just seems to pass me by so quick
Without the presence of my heart.

I feel the moment, though I don’t,
Only deceived by my own eyes.
I live and breathe and my heart beats
And yet fulfillment I can’t find…

Another day comes to an end,
Another year of my life.
Yes, I’m the birthday girl today,
But I won’t be tomorrow…

– Patricia

The Small Things in Life

Another one of those rare days
Has come again. Another year.
I look down at my feet again,
The river—cool and quiet.

Barefoot, enjoying warmth and sun,
I sit here by the river. I
Listen to soothing whispers and
Enjoy the sound of silence.

The river comes, the river goes,
The sun-kissed leaves of trees so green
Blow in the wind. And I am free:
This moment is my blessing.

I’m turning twenty-two today.
The hour glass keeps pouring sand,
And yet as I am here right now,
The moment stops. It’s timeless.

– Patricia

In the Beginning

This is the post excerpt.

 

Da Capo al Poetry 2

I started playing the piano as a child and, later on, I also learned how to play the flute. Music eventually led me to poetry, the music of words, and I’ve been exploring their worlds ever since.

I feel alive when I do so, discovering myself piece by piece. And I feel happy. 🙂

If I am happy, I turn to music and to poetry. If I am sad, I do the same thing. This also goes for the times when I feel depressed, full of anxiety, grateful, excited, content, calm, stressed, or relaxed. Whatever the emotion I feel or the emotional state I am in, music and poetry are my way of unwinding and of remembering who I am.

The notes and the words collide, the worlds of music and poetry collide, creating harmony in my soul. And that is when I feel alive. Pure bliss.