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Different

by Aaron Blair

The pills say no to poetry.
The right mind refuses to indulge
in the stringing together of words.
But I still gaze longingly at
plastic and metal cases of razorblades,
on sale for less than two dollars at the drug store.
I still climb the ladder of scars on my arms
so that I can perch high above
the distinction between well and not well,
damaged and not damaged, stillness as a signifier
of what it feels like to be whole.
If I refuse to admit to the roiling sea inside,
will it calm? Will I ever truly stop
being the me that I have always been?
I keep telling myself that I'm different
and myself keeps telling me that I've failed.

03/28/2011

Posted on 03/28/2011
Copyright © 2024 Aaron Blair

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Ava Blu on 03/28/11 at 05:40 PM

Everyone's a little crazy, I think; if they aren't then they're boring. I think being different is difficult to master. At 31, I'm not sure I understand anything more today than I did 10 years ago. All I know is the pain never fades, not really, but you begin to understand it a bit better every day.

Posted by Gabriel Ricard on 03/28/11 at 06:55 PM

I love that first line. It gets this thing moving beautifully. I don't think anyone who could write something like this is capable of failing. That's just me.

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