Hello! Sorry about the long title, but also not really. (Some things are inherently important enough to make it to the title.)
Also, I have a naturally high body temperature, so I’m sure that’s part of my issue today.
Who knows? Also, I’m vaguely irritated by a coworker, and have been for the past month or so. He apparently thinks I don’t do enough work, so I need to do some of his. Ugh.
Anyhoo, here’s the poem that was written because of my working conditions. 🙂
I shiver from the cold as I
tread through the desert. The
heat chills me to the white
blood cells in my marrow—it saps
my heat, turns me to ice. &
the sand pulls the fur around my feet.
from rage that turns snow to sand—
melts sand into ice.
I can feel my heart beat
through my fingertips. It reverberates
through my torso, melts my
organs with sonic bangs
from my only piece that still works.
A heart I stitched to my sleeve
with threads made of iced sand.
The rage feels better when I wear it.
Better than a glove,
though I do wear it like one—
let it turn my hands red.
Rage. A cold sandstorm
tearing at eyes with dryness that
eats tears before they can come.
The blood cells in my
marrow will feast on this
—ice cold sand.
Yay! Thanks for reading. I actually cooled down while writing this piece, literally and figuratively. The co worker was also standing in front of my desk most of the time I was writing it too.
Writing really is cathartic. 🙂 But really, I think all forms of (safe) art and self-expression are.
Thanks for reading! Also the desert actually gets cold at night, so take a jacket if you decide to go!