Stillness

All you know is how to spill

and make a mess of yourself

in this beautiful world.

Usually, people give a stare

after another,

call it art

and keep moving.

You can leave the house.

Anyway, it’s not where the heart is.

But where the hard edges are.

It is where there are the bills

The damped walls, the mice

And that comfort feeling

you grow up wanting to leave.

You can leave the city.

Most days, it makes you feel

like a sponge.

And gives you only dust

to soak in your mouth

in your lungs

in your life.

You can leave the face of the earth any time.

But this small voice that muffles

‘This is not a test, but you are

doing splendidly’.

You listen to it,

feel like you might be.

You’re so good at being bad.