u/CYTYY
What do I look like?
Am I a White man with grizzly
brown hair?
Perhaps a Black woman with
eyes as dark as raisins
Maybe I'm Hispanic or Korean,
or maybe some mix of them all
An unknowable humanity blend within
my frame
Why have I come here anyway?
What purpose do I have in risking
sand mist assault, or having
the loose triforce temporarily blind
me?
Maybe I like it, or maybe
crashing sea pulled away
my dingy
The thing I ho
Whinny lights and senior's chat
prevent silence
In the place delectated in movies as an echo chamber,
with pointy glasses wearing quiet
enforcers dropping pins at regulars intervals
I explore corridors.
Feet scrape orange carpet
Each thousand room hall with
decorated doors, holds thousands
of monologuing authors
Each with his or her own interest
I snag one and hide.
I creek open a cover and watch
a first kiss
As if aware of my sight, the
author stares out the crack
Explaining his OCD's origin.
"You could have AIDS"
"You could have AIDS"
"Was there blood on that nail?"
"Is there blood
Inside your vase, spotlighted
by blinding exit
You mold "Hello" and prepare
for other's sight.
Winding a prestretched arm,
you grip it for launch
The deformed "Hello" clears the bright hole
Soon to plop to a known
destination in the pottery field.
Seconds pass, and a response
ricochets off the mosaic
memory walls of your home and
plops at your feet
"Hcy"
Given the context, you interpret it as
"Hey"
You correct it without confirmation
Conversation continues.
[I Made it](https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/rzlyby/i_made_
I walked the rooted path, walled by giant, bark, arrows
Some ancient divine war's product, with ruins to confetti the air with leaves
A lone person walked my opposite direction.
We caught each other's sight, she turned to the water
Doing what I've done so many times before
Her eyes bounced between water fowl
Her standing body froze, aside from brown hair flickering in faint breeze.
She too felt the path's pebbles poke her soles
She too let the lake bath her in thought, let the wind wrap her in cold calm.
The words "I get it" clogged my throat
To speak, would be to yank her from her arched window of twisted branches.
And so, I
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