1. 14:11 8th Sep 2010

    Tags: my poetry

    waterloo bridge

    Composure, like arcs in monuments and little girls in toe shoes, skids above my shoulders, digging its heels into the air behind my ears; a little too late to land in me, but with just enough time to linger, like cool air, the aftermath of September rain. My heartbreaks, my stomach tosses, my legs shaking, and my knees on the ground - memories dig out from behind my eyelids, drawing fresh tears, even now, and I wonder what it’s like for these men and women, to feel what we all feel and compose it into themselves; to breathe in through their noses and parted lips and let air push back tears and vomit and explosions in their bones - composure, in the moments where pain tightens our organs and implodes our veins and joints like children snapping lollipop sticks, lingers around my head in the times when I’m crying and shouting and sniffling and fighting and in the years later when the memory creeps out from behind my eyelids and I’m alone or on the bus or in class and I tear up, just a little!, but just a hint more than composure would allow.