When Sara Bareilles sung ‘she is lonely most of the time’:

she meant sometimes the trees seem to whisper

every name but yours, and the bluetits titter

as the sun rises and sets each day as if mocking

your inability to make anyone smile; or the lack

of warmth you feel even within your own bones.

She meant sometimes love is too short

and too sudden; too much December

on a wintry road. It slips on the ice

and between your ribs, laughs,

makes a cold, hard rink of your heart.

She meant music has no melody in the dark

you have drawn for yourself with old newspapers

and dying ink. Things take time and patience

is the colour pink and the trees never knew your name.

She meant lonely feels less like a word

and more like a sharp inhale, waiting,

tight-chested for the exhale.

6 thoughts on “When Sara Bareilles sung ‘she is lonely most of the time’:”

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