Being Alone – New Poem (1st Draft)
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.