Migratory Life


Voici le poème qui m’a inspirée à nommer mon blog « Migratory Life ». Je l’ai écrit pour le « Poetry Slam » de mon école (Une compétition de performances de poèmes et de slams):

à propos deux

I think,

That I have spent more time,

Saying goodbye to people

Than getting to know them.

Watching life go by

From the sidelines.


Where I am going

This time?

Feeling the excitement,

That lifts up my stomach.

And the dread,

A sickening mixture,

Brewing in my gut.

Making me sick.

So pale,

I can’t recognize

Myself in a mirror.


New school,

In the middle of the year.

From France,

My home.

To another country.

Not realizing

What was happening

Until the plane

Left the ground.

An empty weight



Sucking out all emotions,

The further away we flew.

I attempted to distract

My mind

With words and sounds

But they blurred together

And sleep refused to come

To shroud me in its comfort.

We arrived in San Francisco.

Rain was pouring from the sky.

That afternoon,

My mother drove through:

A storm

Of conflicting emotions:

Eyes focused on the road ahead

Fighting against


Lack of sleep,

Dizzying disorientation.

The world around us

Was drenched in tears;

Blurred the windshield,

And it made it hard

To see our surroundings.

That year


Weighed me down,

Constricted my chest.

The walls of my room

Closed upon me

As I escaped through books

And began to question my validity.

Spent my time,


Hating myself,

For being

So pathetic,

Closing my eyes,

Imagining myself,


Just when I was beginning

To find a constancy

I have to leave it all behind

Along with the friendships

That I had finally managed

To form.

Thrown back into the torrent

Of a migratory life

In an ocean of unfamiliar

Faces and names

In Shawnee, Kansas.

Fingers Shaking

Terrified of having

To face

Loneliness again.

And it didn’t help

That for the fifth time

In a row

I was going

To a new school.

My return to France,

Wasn’t what I expected.

I understood the language,

But I was out of phase:

A stranger in my own home.

It’s hard to accept that things,

Will never be the same,

That you can’t repeat the past,

And people change.

So I came back with a new perspective.

Life’s too short,

To waddle in self-pity.

Maybe instead of thinking

Of myself

As no longer

Having a home

I should begin

To think

Of myself

As having

More than one.

I can’t believe,

That it took me so long,

To realize,

All the things,

That I’ve seen,

And I’m only seventeen,

I’ve lived in three countries.

Speak two languages,

Have parents,

Who live,

To travel.

And contaminate me,

With their curiosity

How could I have been,

So ungrateful,

For so long ?

When a lot

Of people tell me

That I am so lucky.

I still haven’t figured out

Who I am.


I feel like a hybrid,

Caught between two cultures,

That I don’t quite fit into.

I still don’t

Know where I am going.

But now it comforts me

To not have my future,

Carved in stone.

Anything could happen.

And that gives me:

Hope and freedom,

To embrace everything,

That comes my way,

With its risks and rewards.

And to,

Always try.

To live on the bright side of the road.


3 réflexions sur “Poème

  1. C’est vraiment beau, ça m’a émue. Keep writing poems, please



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