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restless offering

for the days when your yeses echo into silence

By Lolly VieiraPublished 8 months ago 2 min read
restless offering
Photo by Alexander Grey on Unsplash

the world,

eager, mouth agape,

gnaws at my membranes

what i once called energy

now seeps out quietly,

siphoning the parts of me

that used to dance in wonder

without reason,

without needing to explain their joy

i’ve tried

god, i’ve tried

but my efforts

evaporate like rain

on a too-hot sidewalk

no applause,

no echo,

just the bureaucratic shrug of existence

handing me another unpayable invoice

for daring to care too much

i whisper why

then scream it

into the woven fibers of the void

no answer,

though sometimes i swear

i hear a whispered cryptic riddle

that strikes below the belt,

leaving me doubled over

in metaphysical confusion

everything i needed used to come to me

like rainfall on windows,

unasked, rhythmic, abundant

now my needs are in retrograde,

and every attempt

feels like déjà vu

on a loop i can’t pause

bound by my own futility

i give like it’s sacred

i give like it’s all i have

but the universe still screens my calls,

walks past me on the street

while turning its head

like it doesn’t see me begging

in full daylight

i am a living subtraction,

trying to carry what keeps dropping me

and still,

the restlessness arrives,

a phantom itch under the skin

where stillness should be

i wheeze chasing finish lines

that were only ever a clever mirage

no, i’m not lazy

i’m overflowing in reverse

even my silence

has errands to run

my naps cost more

than i can ever seem to afford

every failure

engraves a new sermon into my bones

every mess i clean

becomes an exhibit in the museum

of my becoming

i crave to move

and be still

at the same time,

a hunger left unsatisfied

this is the paradox of the soul that still hopes

i am restless,

not from the absence of rest,

but from peace always asking

to be earned in advance

my dreams demand receipts

no rest for the wicked,

the weary,

or even the good

only interest rates

on borrowed breath

skating by until the grim reaper's tax season

and still,

i offer

because i must

because i am the offering

i'll give until there's nothing left of me

Free VerseMental Healthsocial commentaryStream of Consciousnesssurreal poetry

About the Creator

Lolly Vieira

Welcome to my writing page where I make sense of all the facets of myself.

I'm an artist of many mediums and strive to know and do better every day.

https://linktr.ee/lollyslittlelovelies

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Comments (2)

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  • F. M. Rayaan7 months ago

    This captures the ache of being unseen and still giving. 'Overflowing in reverse'—wow.

  • Aspen Marie 8 months ago

    “i am a living subtraction” sticks like glue to my ribs. You’ve rendered this feeling exquisitely, and I know it well. Beautiful works as always, Lolly

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