The Scarlett Locket

All my life 

I’ve wondered, 

Do I want to feel the waves,

Or be the storm that is the water? 

I ponder,

Mind

stuck on the

Illusion of choice, 

Heart

struck by life’s abstraction,

And Body

tucked into the bedroom.

Don’t bother, 

I’m In my element

Diving deeper, drowning to get a 

little higher

I mean, who can do this sober?

Just me and a lighter,

And this fire is all mine

to start, all mine 

to burn through.

Cynicism is doing its daily cycle.

Sleeping with the fishes, 

then rising with the moon’s tide.

So cold at the surface, 

so I stay shallow 

to the touch.

But with a soul as liquid as mercury 

my subconscious is

Slipping 

Sinking 

Swimming 

Searching for answers 

that just might 

satisfy

my intuition, 

That just might 

satiate my need 

to know about

every single little thing,

That just might, 

provide 

some definition 

to this big blue world, 

and some guidance 

for me. 

I’ve read theories

until my time has been 

lost at the library,

studied the gems of astronomy,

and yet the compass 

stays steady in its misdirection,

never quite catching where 

or who I am.

Maybe this anxiety 

and these parts of me 

are better off residing in Atlantis,

sunk and drunk in a socratic seminar,

detailing

a narrative that parallels Icarus,

debating, 

How did we get like this? 

My sensibility steps in to scream

“Just drop it!”

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When this storm has subsided,

I find myself 

pushing past the phthalo, 

cerulean, maya, and violent 

blue.

Violet lips breaking the anticipation- 

gasping at the resurface

grasping for sweet resolution.  

My limbs seek the relief 

of the shore,

crawling until I’ve crashed back on my bed.

If only there was a cure for this cancerous curiosity.

One that completed me 

And didn’t call for me to be 

subdued in the hues of Van Gogh’s ocean, 

tamed only by art,

And it’s solace. 

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