p9. Witching Hour
a late night poem and wishes
3:00 am: August 22, 2024
The clock strikes 3 am again and I am hoping to see an apparition.
One of my former self, the younger me that lurks the halls of my childhood home,
Swaying with the band, poppies laced in her tangled hair,
She dreams of soft waves flowing down her back and long eyelashes,
A beautiful face and body, what are they worth?
To be set free from this cage would be a blessing,
But she wanders crop circles into the old carpet,
Her humming plaguing those who that remain,
Does she still cry? No, not in front of others,
She is not as comfortable with her pain as I am now.
I see her in the mirror, a more hopeful version of me,
Lighter eyes, lighter hair, lighter makeup,
I’ve gotten better at this makeup thing but at what cost?
Still a young girl painting her face for approval and love,
Put on your face for others and make them laugh, prima donna.
Even when I’m old and no longer spry,
I will visit her and these halls to hear her voice once more,
And catch a glimpse of the child-like wonder I desperately yearn for,
A grasp of blurry reality coated in sing-song memories,
Ones before the shift, where I can be muddled in my youth and naivety, forever.
life updates for this week:
I’ve been fighting the job market :’(
Newt (my cat) has been a menace
I’ve been cooking dinner every night for almost 3 weeks! Let me know if you want cooking content
I’ve been doing my hair and makeup consistently
My partner got me some pillow rollers and I used them for the first time! (I love them)
Tv/music:
I’ve been rewatching Orange is the New Black with my partner
I started Interview with a Vampire (amc tv show) & the book
I’ve been listening to a lot of 40’s music
Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoy.
Subscribe to The Solitude Diaries for more morbid, melancholic poems and inner thoughts, you are very appreciated <3
P.S. Let me know if you like the new themes and aesthetics for TSD! I thought a more darker theme would reflect my personality and work a bit more xo
LOVE,
MEL
songs for this piece:
The fog settled over the city like an unspoken promise.
No one noticed, not even the pigeons.
I breathed it in anyway.