I feel.

I feel the season, the cold on the tip of my tongue.
I feel the youth upscaling from my dragon like chest,
And that flame inside of my gut tightening.

I feel on fire, literally, with my skin boiling,
without a scorch.

It’s winter and I feel colder than January.
I feel the seconds trickling away,
I feel them trickle past my ribs in a stream
that turns into a river, that floods past my feet.

I feel like my cup is running over,
like its flowing and I’m gasping in thirst.
Like all the help I’ve sent for,
has been waiting without knocking at my front door.
Like my body belongs in Egypt tucked away
in a never to find tomb.

I feel like sadness.
Like what it would feel if it was a person.
Walking around with surety of itself,
walking around infecting without notice.
In cold, shivering, in a smile of its own accord,
unbothered.

I feel unconquerable.
Like sadness and anger swirling in my hands.
Like some sort of vengeance without reason.
Like there’s a purpose for this feeling
and it’s out of my control.

I feel here and now.
Here in this moment.
Unconquerable, in human spirit.

I feel human and weak.
Sometimes that means I feel sad.

 

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