Que sera, sera

sing a song for me
not that one in the back row popped off the top charts
or the one your friends cousin uncles sister thinks is so great because of the catchy melody.
i want the one thats old dusty recovered from long distances crossed waters
across plains of existence
beyond any doubt that its been played around fires

the crescendo bouncing off walls acoustically speaking
remembering it makes you crinkle your nose from
the hilarity of musics grand insanity capture it had on you.

oh please make a song out of me
from fingertips, silent lips, up on the high ground finished with drowning.
im finished with all of it.
but scared witless eyesight hindrance immobile
batting in the last inning
ive forgot how it felt to win.
or maybe i forgot how to drown.
head barely above water waiting for the tide.

i forgot i could write so eloquently i put everything else above me and tragedy spills home out into this screen.
ink flows like heavily trafficked veins
it stops
the corners of mouth curl up into something resembling a smile, but deeper.
longer.
sincerely.

this power is heavy. this lack of power is exhilarating.
such an open wound, naturally healing, forming enclosure.

i can't even begin to finish the thought.
i miss writing and i miss being good at this.
im opening my notebooks yet again.
time to reminisce.
the writer in me is back from a long vacation.

i'll see ya around.
-----

Yo no puedo explicar en inglés.
Esta vez yo no estoy atemorizado. yo no puedo ser.
Todo quiero es de...estar enamorado.
Soy feliz de ser donde soy.