https://visiblemagazine.com/author/natasha-bredle/ Mon, 02 Nov 2026 00:14:30 +0000 en-US hourly 1 https://wordpress.org/?v=7.1.4 https://visiblemagazine.s3.amazonaws.com/wp-content/uploads/2022/12/14163202/cropped-icon-1-32x32.png https://visiblemagazine.com/author/natasha-bredle/ 32 32 161535965 https://visiblemagazine.com/lonely-in-a-crowded-room/?utm_source=rss&utm_medium=rss&utm_campaign=lonely-in-a-crowded-room https://visiblemagazine.com/lonely-in-a-crowded-room/#respond Wed, 13 Sep 2023 13:00:08 +0000 https://visiblemagazine.com/?p=9105 A lyric on my lips
from a song I’ve forgotten.
A spindle I prick my tongue with,
and bleed till words turn sour
in my mouth. Funny how I feel empty
after laughing alone.
Funny how I laugh alone
and a part of me unravels,
revealing a tenderness
beneath the skin, some sort of
secret I must keep hidden
in the hungry shadows.
I like the sound of the sky sweating.
They like the lights low,
the time high. If I quiver, it’s normal.
If I cry, I’m a backstage prop.
It’s to be expected, my feet
hovering an inch above the ground
as density swells and gravity fails.
I grew up in a kind world.
Nobody told me what a mean one
lay just beyond the veil.
It didn’t take a match to burn it up,
or muscle to tear it in two.
It took a whisper to blow it away.
An accidental exhale, and here I am,
a sort of passive poltergeist,
lost in a house with three walls,
thoughts burnt wings, skin
a ghostly shelter. Head caught up,
seamlessly, in all the things most kids
take a pill to forget about.

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