Quantifying Tomorrows and Yesterdays
at 4:07 she ponders that
she can capture
neither stranger nor familiar,
neither body nor mind,
neither meaning nor aesthetic--
she, instead, is the conquered--
it is fatigue, it is anger, it is dolor,
it is atrophy to be;
but she is never too low
to crush hope altogether
👁 1💬 0
Something wrong with this poem?
Replies are closed for this poem.
If you or someone you know is struggling, you are not alone.
988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline — call or text 988, 24/7. Crisis Text Line — text HELLO to 741741.
Your Poem's Voice
See what makes your poem unique — its voice, energy, themes, and the literary traditions it draws from.
Comments (0)
Comments are closed for this poem.