I read this poem and instantly began to sing Beyoncé’s “I Miss You.”
My hat goes off to Tracy K. Smith and Frank Ocean for the written ingenious that goes into eloquently capturing the irony and the depth of missing someone. The intimacy and vulnerability within the words used by the speaker hone onto a secrecy between two people who shared moments. Moments you want back, longing that pains you to an effect that you can relive them at the blink of an eye. You become engulfed in a fantasy and wish for it to become your reality. In knowing that they won’t ever return you become reluctant to these thoughts and being to coax yourself into thinking it’s nothing; so you can get through the day with ease. The truth is the power is in the details, if you didn’t miss it why are you focusing so much time on it? Why can you remember everything that happened in those wakening moments? It’s what happens when your heart and mind finally meet.
This poem is my current life.
Everything seems to ignite some feeling or memory that I want back, in spite of knowing it will never return. I have moments like this multiple times a day, so much that I begin to think I’m crazy. Perhaps, I am but now there’s relief in knowing other people live through what your circumstances. When you are receiving cliché advice and “you need to get over it” commands from the people in your life, it’s reliving to know that someone gets your situation, even if the comfort is just on a piece of paper.
When you’re dealing with something that changes the course of your day or your outlook on life and people are apathetic or neglectful it may seem as though your feelings are not being respected. This constant belittling has made me build up certain walls and I’ve gone from expressing my hypersensitivity to becoming very numb to my emotions. Just existing and not living.
Only problem with this solution the more vulnerable my writing is becoming and the more I listen to music, my discernment begins to impede.
Everything I write turns into my question past mistakes, analyzing current longings and closing off even from my pen because of the heavy weight of my negative emotions. Every song that I listen to or hear in passing sparks a memory that I’m trying to bury. My strong association with words and melody has met its match with my elephant memory and over-analytical mind. My strongest passions become annoyances when I reinvest myself into any moment in my life that those things have a connection with.
So there’s an extensive list of songs that remind me of my love that I can’t listen to. Writing that can’t be done at face value because I can’t find the right words to explicitly represent raw feelings without shunning them.
Tracy pares down and captures what I feel when I allow myself to miss it.
I’ve been to doubt my pen and where others would marvel at the words or appreciate my musical library and like that I’m enamored with poetry yet again.