There's a metal detector in my pocket.
At least, there should be
because I feel a bit metallic
like the earth won't stop spiraling simply
because I disappeared;
it would spin faster
because metal holds magnets back.
Regardless, I need another little machine,
since we have other little machines,
to help me find what I've lost;
I'm always losing things,
especially the smallest pieces of myself
that are almost hell to try to find,
once you notice they're missing, of course.
The days follow a pattern:
open door, leave house, do things, enter house,
and close door...
Suddenly, my systems are malfunctioning,
and, running diagnostics, I realize
I've left an almost critical screw somewhere,
anywhere; personally, I think they like Aruba.
That's why I need a metal detector,
because I need to find my pieces
and put them back in place,
but I don't have one
because it wouldn't work;
I'm not made of metal,
and the pieces are much more than screws.
YOU ARE READING
Once, We Lived | Poetry Collection Completed
PoetryA collection of poetry from the high-school years of an semi-angsty teen with too much time on her hands. This is an exploration of the different facets of life and the perceptions of a teen of the 2010s with a knack for words. Warning: contains con...
