Found scribblings. This was written several years ago as I was trying to cope with an episode of heavy depression. I was lonely, and trying to comfort myself. Although the element of “grasping” is apparent, I think there is a nugget of beauty in the suggestion that what we feel may be more than what we realize, possibly perceiving truths beyond ourselves. It’s hard to be our own comforters, but if we project what we’d like someone to do for us, we can provide a percentage of that to ourselves.
Someone pet my head,
call me precious,
explain that what I am feeling is the tragedy
of all miracles’ temporality.
Tell me you’ll stay with me through to morning,
and send me off with nutrition and poetry.
– a yearning, during a bout of Nature’s Anguish, wherein it took 20 minutes to make it up the ladder into bed as a bawling idiot.