Lina Al-Hakim Poet Free verse

Thesaurus of You

My mind searches for results,
Often at multiple times a day, like a dictionary, one may say.

I ask to define depth,
Something I can get stuck in for hours,
Whirl pooling blues, greys, even greens,
And just the odd streak of brown,
And endless darkness at the centre.
It’s something I am willing to search for again and again.

I ask to define soft,
Rougher edges of a pretence of harshness,
Melanin and melanin-lacking hay carved so imperfectly,
It tells me that I would sink within it if I were to indulge in you,
I shake my head and red appears when I do so.

I ask to define perfection,
And I receive nothing.

I ask to define target,
A framework for what we should all be,
Tender kindness that I am reminded of so often,
Unending ambition that I look forward to with a sickening sigh,
As your silhouette is what I have received.

It tells me to pursue you,
Something I will never do, but entertaining the thought is not so bad.
Your eyes, your softness, you.
That is the result of perfection, or what I know it as.

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