The Feels

The Feels

When the dust on your spectacles projects ghosts in the night,
as the feeling in your gut says, “It’s gonna be alright.”
When you’re out there wandering in every which direction,
hoping for more than just a superficial connection,
looking for intimacy swept under the rug,
dodging conflicts and protecting your soul,
eventually you find solitude’s a better goal.
You bump into souls seeking a “me, too”
because you just don’t know what else to do.

When you’re drunk on dopamine,
don’t know, don’t care what time it is,
misunderstood and making a scene.
When all you can remember is last night’s dreams,
you transcribe whatever your conscience dictates,
moving in and out of an altered United States
in a cold and shivery upside down summer.

When circumstances declare a proclamation
that this one song must remain on repeat,
say, “Goodbye,” to your radio station,
for it’s the only thing alive that’ll let your mind take a vacation.
You blare it into your psyche until your worries remain unheard
until your heart beats out of loving synchronicity,
and you no longer hear the jarring noises of the city.
After years of heartache, you just learn to dance.
You try and cope, getting high on false hope.

Music drowns sorrows better than something on ice.
A drink is unsteady, but a song’s always ready.
It might be the only one who understands.
Melody ain’t lethal, so you needn’t think twice.
There’s poetry hidden between the notes
with a prayer hidden there that sets you afloat.
It says, “Here, now, take my hand.
We’ll dream our way to the promised land.”

D.L. Lang
D.L. Lang
D.L. Lang of Vallejo, CA is the author of nine poetry collections, including 2016's Poet Loiterer which Kirkus Reviews described as containing "Free-spirited ideals couched in fairly infectious rhymes." She enjoys performing her poems at open mics and entering them in county fairs.