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"Insight"
a poem by Heather-Ann Cozen
There are so many tiny insights I can offer.
Like, for instance, why my cheeks are blushed to a red
That can only be compared to a budding rose.
Or maybe why waves of nervousness come from being alone
With someone I am completly unattracted to.
If we were alone it would be such a pity,
Such a loss, such a waste... of what?
They've searched the world over,
Twenty thousand and 3 times to be exact.
And what have they found?
What answer, what insight?
That the only thing we have is eachother.
Now I've been thinking, I've been trying to understand.
I can feel what others feel.
I wish I could express what depths my mind go to.
I've traveled it alone and wished others would voyage as well.
I've sat up nights in bed thinking of others, wishing they were with me.
I've cried in closed rooms.
All I want is to drink a tasty cup of someone else.
Let them taste my complexity, my blatant simplicity.
But then I think, what's the use?
No one is listening to me, they've all missed my cries for help.
I've tried, I've tried to talk.
But television sets, boyfriends, and
Crowds of loud hormonal teenagers have drowned out my voice.
So, many mintues and days are spent with anger, and plans to give up my search.
I am easily distracted, easily scared.
Bloody broken lines.
I see it all and don't know what to do with it.I've also searched for an answer.
Some have told me that we only have ourselves.
We were born alone and will die alone, and I understand this well.
But on the other hand, life should be about human relationships,
We're only here for a short while and we should get as much of others as we can.
The one idea that I always come back to is this:
Who is wiser, the introvert or extrovert?
Each have their perks and each have their tragedy.
I believe that each human life is so complex.
We can't even understand our own brains, or fathom death.
On the other hand, in the big picture, we are nothing.
I'm not even a handful of sand on the beach. I am only one speck of sand.
Maybe not even that.
I am so small it's not concievable.
On that note I realize I waste so much time with trivial worries.
With this short amount of time I have, shouldn't I spend it worry-free?
But if I'm so complex, shouldn't worrying be relevent?
If the world is so complicated, and we shall never understand one another,
Shouldn't I be sad? Scared? Afraid? Alone?
There is no answer. No way to ever understand.
And that's all I know.
Send comments to: hcozen@cats.ucsc.edu
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