All the Feels I Felt

 

The feeling you thought you

felt, wasn’t the feeling you were

actually feeling at the time you

thought you felt it.

It was a different feeling.

 

You aren’t feeling it,

that feeling that’s supposed to

occur when you know your feeling

is right, that sixth sense feeling.

That inside feeling.

 

Some feelings are supposed

to be a spark that you can judge

by how it makes the rest of your

feelings feel. And when you don’t

get that feeling, you have to say,

you’re not feeling it.

 

Which makes others have the

feelings, the sore feelings, the

feelings that make you feel sick

to your stomach because you can’t believe

how much feeling you poured into

their feelings in the hopes that your

feelings will be reciprocated.

 

I’m just going back the feel of

things, no actual structure or shape,

no color or tone, just the feel of it,

the feel of the room, the feel of those

absent eyes, the feel of being left

out alone again.

 

The feel of nights alone on the

deflated and over-felt sofa,

the feel of cigarette smoke wafting

in little blue whirls overhead like a

crown of missed opportunities and

extinguished flaming feelings.

 

All the feels,

felt so often,

felt too much, crowded,

pressed together under pressure,

feeling like it’s going to blow.