I don’t think we realise the imprint of a name,
They tattoo our brains, how inked skin stains
As we write labels for the sum of our parts.
My name does not define me because
It will never describe me, but
To you it identifies me, and
Everything I am within my name
Is for you to decide without me.
We often forget to watch when dust and grime accumulates,
Collects under our nails, forms a film over our skin,
Nests in the fibres of our carpet, settles on outsides and within.
It’s a slow assembly of a compilation of the messes
We abandoned instead of disentangling.
We listen to music through knotted headphones
And instead of taking time to unravel the wires,
We learn to live with the discomfort.
Music holds more memories than we remember
A melody is nostalgia and a photo album of sounds
I remember my life through the lyrics that touched me and
The songs connected to people
And days and nights
Some sounds touch the heart
And remind me of feelings I can feel I once felt
But don’t remember
I got used to the way
The wind in the chimneys
Sounded like ghosts.
You get used to all the things
That scare you
When they’ve happened
So many times
Yet got no further than
An ambivert is someone who is neither an introvert nor an extrovert, but somewhere in between. Instead of having a battery that is recharged solely by either social interaction or alone time, it can really depend on the person and the situation. For me, I have more like a double ended battery. I think that’s the best way to describe it.