to be king

Is there somewhere I can go

With clear thoughts and pleasing dreams

I’ve been waiting for a long time ;

In the Spring limbo

Trying to crystalise yesterday in an unsteady tomorrow.

We peel off in opposite directions, our quick steps crushing the autumn leaves

As the blue and white cars run down the streets

To catch us after 9 pm rings.

Curfew covers the French streets like a monster with claws

I want to bite back at it.

Instead, I stay alone with the songs in my head.

Every day’s hazy and there’s a space for you in my bed, and I almost blame you for not being here, smiling to me as you should, smiling as if we were already in this perfect somewhere – or at least we could pretend to be.

Is it inappropriate of me to be wanting more

In a time of stillness and fear


I don’t feel sorry.

I can’t be content with comfort and freedom-choking rules and yes I have a room and four walls but my heart is a sound amplifier and I will keep on soaking up the richness around me. I need to write about everything searing, bewitching and splendid. I do not rest I do not shrink.

I’ve never wanted blue and white cars owning the streets

Of a town I now love

I’ve never wanted this space in my bed, neither forgetting what airports smell like, and the melodious sound of my suitcase wheels that echoes in the big halls of London Gatwick.

But if you can’t be here yet

There might be somewhere I can go by myself

To be as I used to

To be King.

Maëlle Leggiadro

Image courtesy of Isaiah Bekkers

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