Waking/Dreaming, & other poems


Wed - 

Do you think Hypnos
has insomnia, too?

Thurs -  

“the nerves / frenzy feeding / on nothing”
The most accurate description of 
a panic attack I have encountered.
That line sank its teeth into me
and I’m still nursing 
the puncture wounds. 

Fri - 

You’re never ready to meet new people. 
of Friends
at a little outdoor party
with everyone wearing masks
and no one was sure who smiled

Sat - 

I stayed up all night. Not like Hypnos ever does his job, anyway. He was probably out. Sleeping around. Or at least pretending to-  

Sun -  

You never really recover 
From watching your first sun rise
You’ll keep wanting to watch it again.
It gets inside of you and sometimes
You’ll swear up and down 
That you bleed starlight

Mon -  

My boss said to me 
“I like you.
I prefer a man of actions
Not words”

Little did he know, he hired a writer

Tues - 

Hypnos and I got coffees at night
And talked about
All the sleep
We should have gotten

What I’m trying to say

is that communication was never easy for me 
I have a stutter					       Even simple words
Will break 
	            On my tongue
				               Syllables shatter
				               Into half formed
				               Copies of
A mouthful of 
vernacular 				          accidents
                                                        What I’m trying to say is

It's not any easier nowadays 
With half of
Everyone’s face gone (and rightfully so)
But still it impedes

			        So we get
			        Boiled down
			        To text

Lately it seems all I have of people
                                                                                Are their words
And a profile picture 
And I can take their word
For it that
										They’re not mad
										Just frustrated like
										I am

But tone is conveyed poorly
On screen sometimes and a period
Means something different 
At the end of a one word

What I’m trying to say is —

I’m Bad At Love Poems (Turn Off the Lights)

Turn off the lights and forget:
I was never taught how to love gently.
(Can that even be taught?)
Forget that:
I’m afraid I inherited this curse 
from the eyes of a bitter father
who never questioned what he passed on.

Turn off the lights and forget that:
In the dim blue of some other man’s bedroom
all I want is to pierce his skin
tunnel past the heart and bury
all my inheritance there in his ribs.
So I can leave it behind in morning
when I close the front door. 

By Nicolas Troy