It cheapens me.
Closing off to others hidden behind the velvet rope.
Do I look expensive? ‘Cause I feel devalued.
The lack of it depletes me.
I am the fine china behind glass doors.
Fragile and put away for elegant times that never occur.
Vintage or antiquated, left in the past but oh so pretty right?
Merely forgotten behind.
The shiniest penny no one ever wants but sometimes need in those rare times.
So lovely and useless it’s pathetic.
No one cares for it because it has no purpose.
A burden to carry that jingle of pennies.
The journey is silly.
People say you write better with a pen and paper at hand;
But I feel comfortable typing away on the computer.
The ideas flow through me like tears at a funeral,
Quick, emotional, and meaningful.
By the time I find a pen to use,
The idea is gone, swept away by distraction.
My subconscious won’t allow me to retain them anymore.
They’re forever lost, deprived of, and void.
Yes being on the computer has its quirks
YouTube, Figment, Facebook, you name it!
Music helps me think, reading helps me develop ideas
But by the time I find a song, I’ve forgotten what it is, I was about to do.
Please scroll down, for I have a poem for you.
The gleams and splints and a tint of a smile,
A tenth of a second, a quarter of a mile.
Pencil to paper, brain to work;
In the depths of your mind, creativity lurks.
Have a nice day folks, and keep writing!
I insist on making amends. Grudges and judgments do not work anymore. I let go of negativity in order to see and feel the positive energy around me. I have a purpose, a lovely life to live. This hole I once dug myself into…
I shouldn’t have picked up the shovel. I let metal injure soil. Dispersed the nutrients. Exposed carbon. Killed subsurface lives. Broke a strong compound. All for what? A tunnel to China? Hidden treasure? All I saw were dead bodies. All I saw was my heart + brain detached from my body, splattered with soil turned mud from regret.
Now I am repaired. Intact. 110%. Clean of muddy regrets. The hole is filled in, a lump out of place from the smooth landscape. It will take a while to smooth it over. *sigh* Everything takes time.
The trickiest thing to do when not doing is allowing yourself to breathe.
Sitting still, but your body is still working.
Eyes blinking, chest heaving, digestive system keeping the flow of nutrients going.
It’s not possible. We cannot stop going unless we die.
We cannot stop going until we sigh the last exhale left in our lungs.
No sound. No plea. No more bound to the same Earth as the Black sea.
Unattached and unaffiliated to the world.
But this is not so. We can never not do because to stay alive, our bodies are always doing, moving, and producing.
Let us continue to work in perfect harmony.
Breathe. Sink into life and let it carry you through and through and through.
Until your life is good and through.
I’m supposed to be writing something beautiful
Something worthy of praise and gratitude
But everything that comes out is bland
I’m supposed to say something powerful
Something worthy of your silence while I speak.
But nothing comes out.
I’m supposed to be inspiring and enlightening
Someone worthy of respect when I walk in the room
But I don’t know any more than you.
Not a smidge more.
What am I supposed to be?
Who do they think I am?
Why is there this entire personality created for me that is nothing as I am?
I am nothing like the movies.
He sees me
He watches me
My every move
Within the shadows he lurks nearby
He creeps his arms around my waist
The silk smooth of his voice sifting into my brain through my ears
He knows my movements
My wants and desires
He has them in the palm of his hand
Me, he has me in the palm of his hand
I cannot escape
I do not want to escape
He knows this
I smell his candy sweet breath
I feel his alluring presence billowing like a great cloud around me
I am enshrouded in him
Soften your heart towards me for I am fragile
So fragile the wind of your inattention may blow me away.
Do you hear the words I speak?
Listen, because if you don’t
I may cry
I am unheard
I have been made invisible.
So much for choosing a superpower
Tight-lipped with nothing to say
It is the sternness of your words that have ate up my own.
It is with certainty that your rage billows like a storm at sea surrounding me.
Are you done?
Or are you finished?
The torment is enough, you have shut me up and spoken for the both of us.
My mind, my words, what I feel or think
Is not worthy of mention, but apparently yours is… more so than mine.
You yell and I clench my fingers into my palms.
I should walk away.
Would you follow me or yell louder until distance drowns out the spiteful commentary?
My feet won’t move.
I wiggle my toes
Shift from foot to foot.
You pause to take a breath.
“Aren’t you going to say something?!”
Now you want me to speak.
I stare at you.
Chest rising and falling quickly.
Look at all the energy dispelling from your body.
Warmth spreads into my feet and I turn away from you and walk.
Step by step, each one farther away.
It’s quiet behind me.
I glance back at you to a look of bewilderment and defeat.
Tussle with irrationality, no, no, I could not.
Like punching the rain or kicking falling snow.
The storm has passed and I’m making it back to shore bruised
Degraded disrespected unheard
Made lesser than, humiliated
Nonetheless I survived.
I am to be heard
I will not stick around and let another steal my humanity.
Doesn’t it get old
Standing out in the cold
I know what they’ve said
About you ‘making your bed”
But I think you can fix it
So don’t you exit
I know it seems like the end
But here I am friend
To help you through the tough time
That sometimes sneak up on you like a mime.
Don’t give up hope
There are better ways to cope
Than standing out in the cold
Isn’t that getting old?
Don’t you want a warm bed
Like they’ve said
If you exit
You can fix it
I’m waiting for you, friend
You’re almost to the end
You found better ways to cope
And have so much more hope
You’re almost done through the tough time.
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