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Work in progress...

by Malika Bierstein

I have not felt at home
since I got here, this place
that raised me more foreign
than any other soil my feet have found.
Here we grunt when we move,
talk with our hands and feel
with our mouths, gluttons for
anything and everything--
primitive beasts on a search
for something sacred to destroy
every chance we get. I look
into my neighbor's eyes
and feel empty, disconnected
in a way that I cannot explain
but I don't have to
justify this lie we live, this air
we breathe that breeds greed
and has nothing left to give.
I don't want any part in it,
want to push my heels deep
into the sand and build my castle
there, okay with the fact
that it will eventually wash away
because life was meant to cease
and recreate itself in more
ways than we care to admit,
stay stuck in the mud
of a fear that won't quit
but I am not afraid anymore.
I am ready to reach out now
and open up that door
though I'm unsure of what
is on the other side. It must be better
than this substance-induced
high we cloud ourselves with
every day just to stay sane. I want to
go crazy, welcome it in
the best possible way, find
the answers to every question
that ever haunted me,
make amends and walk away.
There is a path that's always been
there softly calling out my name,
gold pavement covered in dust,
tarnished yet beautiful all the same.

11/10/2006

Posted on 11/10/2006
Copyright © 2026 Malika Bierstein

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Gabriel Ricard on 11/10/06 at 08:39 PM

I really like how you put this together, the whole thing running like one breathless thought. Very nicely done.

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