Dredging (9/24/19)

I’ve considered putting my hair

Into a ponytail when I’m sleeping

Because my hair not soft against my

Cheek and gets in my eyes and is

Hot. I’ve also considered getting

Another better-paying job. Both

Have ended with the same result.

 

I’ve awareness of my surroundings,

But I’m in open space. Maybe it’s

A cruel experiment: after several

Days I’ll be reunited with reality and

They’ll see if I truly do still retain

General awareness. It’s all white

As of right now. Will I understand

Color if it returns?

 

It all started in November of 2017.

I didn’t have fourteen dollars to get

A haircut. Then I met a girl who

Liked my hair longer, so I let it grow.

Now my curls descend beyond my

Shoulders and I like it. I’ve broken

Up with this girl since; I guess, I do

Admit, not cutting it is partly laziness.

 

I wonder who the control was in this

Experiment. I wonder if my memory

Has been wiped and restructured to

Their liking. I wonder if I am absolutely

Nothing and my brain is conjuring up

Fake scenarios for me to call my own,

To give me a sense of life. I wonder

Where the scientists are. I wonder if

There are even any scientists at all, or

If I have fallen into a strange hole that

Tricks me into thinking things.

 

I had a bad habit back then—I say

“Back then” as if I have gained an

Exorbitant amount of knowledge, but

I can at least say the habit is breaking—

Where I struggled to talk to those

Significant to me about important

Problems, and instead kept to myself.

So while, yes, I may have cheated, in

A way, I did what I would have done

If I had said I no longer wanted to be

With her. I just didn’t have to courage

To tell. That’s a sorry excuse.

 

I can’t exactly feel my hair anymore,

And I don’t know if that makes sense

Or not. It’s simply a part of me, I

Think. I’m floating. I don’t wear shirts,

I just wear the shirt. I don’t wear shoes,

I just wear the pair of shoes. I don’t

Comb my hair, I just comb the hair.

And I couldn’t believe it, but it all

Happened again. I looked at someone

Else and I did it again, I couldn’t bring

Myself to look at myself anymore.

Because I’d done it again, and then

I fell in here, the place where I have

Awareness, but nothing I can make

Myself aware of is here. My eyes are

Twitching, trying to focus—and this

Time I can promise I’m trying to focus—

And I wonder who is watching me.

This poem is about: 
Me
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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