Magnetism

All other voices are blocked out.
The scratching throat of the wind?
Snowflakes attempting to scat whenever
someone blinks?

all of it, dimming.

I spin myself round and round
on a stool too thin for me,
disregarding the pulses in the room.
I flip the layers of my bracelet
to the side, disconnecting then
reconnecting the shiny beads,

watching the colors move....

My thoughts attach themselves;
I am also culprit to when they
disengage, and there are constant
irritations no family member
can point to.

Does anyone truly read me
and do relationships change and can tears become
obsolete fallbacks and can healing make me
more of a person?

These flurries in my veins
spiral, yet I put them together as if
they have always had some
acquaintance.

And maybe they do....
each reason I bother to button up
in my mind, each question that runs
on despite taught grammar,
it's the civility we are all trying to hear,

bearing upon ourselves the task
to perceive, and listen.

* written November 25, 2012 at 3:06 pm.