PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Sitting and settling with the roundness to my gut,
I try to glance about the room;
catch and give a look, pretend that I'm interested.
Despite the proximity, the music faded well
into something that bled
instead of separating everything by violent force.
We could enjoy in silence.
Conversations were made difficult and dense
by the absence of air
left free of bass and treble.
The room shook lightly and people bobbed their heads
in tempo with whatever mishap took to the stage.
People knew their friends, or acquaintances,
and measured their opinions in kind.
By end of the night, we lauded the final act:
Everyone knew them,
but they were good anyway.

Seeing faces lit against the orangish-bluish backdrop,
drinks rising to lips, eyes fluttering;
every simple gesture a thought tailored towards somebody,
somewhere.
I dwelt within and thought:
how I'd like to be someone sought.
Just like the rest of us.
And when I'm unable to stand, so confident and sturdy,
how I'd like someone to help me,
to prop me upright, with a softness she'd cultivate
only because she wanted to.
And how I tend to panic when I feel less than pristine;
when backs only bend and spines only curve,
shoulders slumping and eyes cast down -
lost in all manner of doubt and so on.
I can't imagine I'm too pretty
when eyes speak of storm clouds;
the empty is clear,
and there is no room for rebuttal against all of the grey.