a

single

missing

piece.

a field covered in snow

with a solitary red dot

spreading

bleeding crimson ink

a pinhole

becomes

a canyon

tears lead to deserts

silence causes a hurricane

chaos.

where has the past gone

lantern light extinguished

stumbling in the dark

falling through the floor

searching for sanity

as it all unwinds

a

n d

r e

b a s

k

a

p

a

r

t.

have you ever walked out

of your therapist's office

mid-way through

a conversation

because getting better

hurts like a mother______

or turned in

an exam in college

blank

with only your name

which is tarnished anyway

they tell you at the beginning

that it's going to be difficult

these things that make or break us

but I'd argue

anything can be erased

with a number two pencil

and some denial

a half wrapped package

not yet open

a small timer peeking out

counting down.

how much time

do i have left

before i'm gone?

before i'm blown away

by a random act of

hatred?

who could have left this gift

waiting innocently on my steps

counting down even while i slept.

my life isn't done,

some things left unsaid

yet i can do nothing but watch

as the timer keeps going down.

i scratch at

loose paper

tearing it to bits.

i'm not ready to die.

this is a simple fix.

toss it aside, take it to the police

bury it in the woods

where it'll barely make a dent.

i'm not ready to die

so why can't i move?

maybe because i know

this package is from you.

my life is incomplete

but so is my heart

and if i had to choose

i'd rather die than lose you.

so take this poem

as a declaration

even though you've killed me

i love

Writing again usually feels it can be tweaked further.

Everyday being alive seems to be ongoing.

Cycling through the routine again respawn.

Going further than last time progress.

Mind going blank something missing...

Feel like I'm not my usual self incomplete.

Not today nor tomorrow,

Shall I start a new beginning!

My days are but a timeline of passing events,

Ongoing...

Both hurtful and helpful.

Forever moving, but never complete!

For as long as I can remember, I have felt much like the proverbial 'fish out of water' - as though I did not belong in the time or place in which I was born and lived. I truly have felt incomplete and misplaced in this life. I can't really explain it other than to say that I have always gravitated to other things, people, and places with a depth and scope of feeling that is inherent in my soul, and yes, even in my body since I feel it to my core. It prevails and haunts me as it permeates every part of my life.

Most people would say that I am silly and am wishing for things that can't happen or I can't have, but it's so much more. There's a feeling that I should have born elsewhere. Everything has always felt a bit off. If you could feel as I do, you'd understand it all in the skip of a heartbeat, but since that can't possibly happen, we'll choose the wonder of words. I only hope I can portray the depth of what I feel through the beauty and power of the words written herein.

If one were to believe in reincarnation, then it seems possible that I was previously alive in Italy or England in the days of old. It’s as though there's a familiarity with those distant places that I sense and nearly breathe despite the fact that I have never been to either of the countries. How can something you don't know seem so familiar? It’s akin to déjà vu. I'm not precisely sure what it is or how it works, but for me, these places whose soil I have never had the privilege to lay my foot upon feel all too familiar in a multitude of ways. And even more so, it's all felt in a sense of something very old.

Yes, despite what one may think about thee things, I truly feel as though I've experienced a type of social shock for feeling as incomplete or misplaced as I do. I have an old soul that gravitates to older people, places, and things; it's those people and things with which I am the most comfortable. And it's also true that especially while gazing at a star-filled sky at night, I have never felt quite at home where I am. I love my family, so I am not ungrateful for what I have. But still, it doesn't alter the scope, the breath, and the depth of what I've always felt: things have never, ever felt complete for me, leading to a sense of misplacement. And the familiarity with and the inherent knowledge of places I have never been and things I have never seen shall always reverberate deep within until my dying breath.