I Know

Photo by Houcine Ncib on Unsplash

I know you are reading this poem under the yellow light of your kitchen table, wondering what you’ll eat if these words don’t fill you up.

I know you are reading this poem in the middle of the night when nothing is wrong but nothing is right and sleep doesn’t seem to solve that.

I know you are reading this poem, wondering why you are reading this poem as you continue to read this poem.

I know you are reading this poem after you found out that someone you love cannot love you because they found out how sad and empty you are.

I know you are reading this poem wondering if you will make it to the other side, the other side of what, you don't know.

I know you are reading this poem at a cafe in the middle of a city full of strangers that mean more to you than your family who is stranger to you than the city.

I know you are reading this poem in the middle of a conversation you ended because nothing can be said.

I know you are reading this poem on the internet because you are sick of real people and think maybe some stranger can tell you who you are.

I know you are reading this poem while lying to yourself about why you are alive while drinking alone in your basement and staring at an unfinished wall.

I know you are reading this poem at work between meetings and phone calls and bad coffee that keep you awake until you find a way to quit because no one appreciates you.

Photo by Cristian Newman on Unsplash

I know you are reading this poem because you happened upon it and you can’t let go of this feeling that the universe brought you here, to know yourself.

I know you are reading this poem at the end of a long day after you decided it's not worth it to complain about how dull existence can be in a single day, and how each moment seems to own you as if you cannot just be without time.

I know you are reading this poem after looking in the mirror and cringing at what you’ve become.

I know you are reading this poem and thinking that if you meet one more person who doesn’t understand you, you will stop caring.

I know you are reading this poem, sitting in your car with the engine running, hoping you don’t have to go inside that cold house with all its unsaid words.

Photo by Daniel Minárik on Unsplash

I know you are reading this poem after the dishes are done and the laundry is folded and there are no more meaningless tasks to occupy your mind so you can forget how lonely you are.

I know you are reading this poem because you have nowhere else to go, nothing left to do.

I know you are reading this poem as a way to avoid this thing called life for one more moment.

I know you are reading this poem while spending a lifetime waiting to die only to learn you are already dead.

I know you are reading this poem and regretting that you ever learned to read.

I know you are reading this poem and cannot be anything else at this moment.

I know you are not only reading this poem, but you are also writing it.

nina