is it a blessing or a curse that sensitivity is

is it a blessing or a curse
that sensitivity is paired with instability
you tell me, how does the sky glow with the stories
of our faraway ancestors and
seem meaningless the next

why are there times when music
cannot match what i am feeling, and i
frantically click one song after the next,
only to find silence to be the one tolerable friend
at least for now

why is it that i cannot rest in this silence
for too long before i frantically try and
find some poems to relieve the tension
in my pounding heart, but all these words
only dizzy my heart

why is it that there are times when i am carefree,
other times worrisome, like
now
and i panic, i am so good at panicking,
and since my parents never
gave me a middle name, i decided
neuroticism
would fit nicely — a quality written in my eyes
that i cannot seem to love
at least for now

i am so unsatisfingly satisfied, can you explain
to me why this is so?

i began to
worry, worry about all the
paintings i would never truly
see,
about the way i hold so much
on a pedestal
and then i remember the way someone told me
“stop
living in your head”
but reality can be a sham
you showed me that

i worry about all the people
who have never been touched
past the layer of flesh against flesh

i thought about my uncle, who is depressed, who is
across the sea and has told me to not bother him,
i thought about long-distance
relationships between two hearts
not two bodies, which
even distance
cannot measure, but nobody is interested
in the miles, just the collision

and i wanted to cry, that’s what i
always want to do, i am so crippled
when i resist these tears from forming
and i hear my father’s voice echo,
“you are too old to cry”
and so that’s why i am here
writing this.

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