words & photo by Kara Roberts
that pain behind my eyeball is here again this week,
the week of all weeks on this trip so far.
i never had a migraine before this year,
and when i think i’m doing right
it comes back,
it lingers, begging for me to pin down the source,
a migraine-inducing task in itself.
i am trying to find myself in my dreams,
but this morning all i dreamt of was pies and scones,
while lying with someone whose sweetness is all too real,
and it was too early in the morning anyway.
so i find solace in the same 12th century poetry quoted by all wannabe mystics,
and it’s so just, yet predictable, and
don’t let anyone tell you how you should feel,
how am i to deal with an identity crisis without google,
or more accurately,
without questions, without past and future
i am trying to be buoyant,
i am trying to be tender.
i am up against a pattern that tells me to forget myself,
and every day this week i am choosing to listen to a different song.
it tells me to move away from fear
and that is all.