Being Alone – New Poem (1st Draft)

Being Alone

There’s a part of me which hungers to have plans,

night after night, so I’m juggling my time

like I’m throwing cheese graters

and newly sharpened knives.


Then another part of me, a quiet, shaded,

thoughtful part thinks no. Because being with people

is sometimes like eating bottle caps, or

only finding the sewing needle

in my noodles when it’s too late,

and my deep bowl is quickly re-filled

with blood and half-chewed starch.


Sometimes, loneliness creeps up like cancer,

and brings my shoulders higher,

and I am desperate to re-connect.

But, there is always a but

deciding to be sociable for me

it takes guts, yet I know a change

in routine is healthy, but I always think

I’ll miss something, like the perfect line

in a poem I haven’t even started yet.


When I’m alone, I experiment with wax,

making my fingertips into candles.

I leave the plant on the windowsill to turn brittle,

eat vegetarian sausage sandwiches three days running

because nobody is there to tell me to do otherwise.

I let water stagnate at the bottom of the fridge.


But sometimes I worry, I worry about falling down the stairs

and lying there for days, while bills and junk mail

collect on my broken back.