i was seven when i learned to fear how hard the earth would be if i fell https://www.everythingcsmg.com/
Today was a good day, but…
I have not quite burned down this house let’s call it a coat that I have hung up in the summer months a house feels too large and too final a thing and I fear that winter will find mind me and I will be all to ready to drape myself in old sorrows. Day 2- Write a poem that addresses at least one other poem and/or poet by name. You might imitate, parody, disagree with, champion, or generally respond to the other poem and poet. I chose A Good Day by Kait Rokowski
always in the quiet hours (22 sept 2014)
at night i ask when will i relearn to love myself in the quiet hours
lessons i have yet to learn
(22 July 2014) Things that start with “maybe if I” and end with “then I will feel better’ rarely ever work. Happiness will not come from someone else’s touch there is nothing and noone you can put in your mouth or on your body that can bring you joy.
27 april 2014
self-loathing: i find myself relieved when vile men can still find this expanse of flesh appetizing
Ethos
I always stay too late. I am always the last to leave, The one left to taste the soured wine Passed in frantic effort To regain the spirit, Get burnt by the embers Of hysterical bodies Trying to rekindle the longspent fire. Last to leave And first to come off that high Brought on by either ethers or ethos First to sniff the stale smiles that linger in the air Long after the fleeting fancy That brought them has left. I always leave too late, And as I totter home, I am always emptier in the dying hours Drained from…
Mania
I go like a clockwork toy wound too tight Frantic and eager but sporadic and hysterical And I love and I love And I give and I give Until like like a well loved toy My skin is worn thin And my entrails spill out from the seams. And the pounding ratatatat tattoo of my heart whipped into frenzy is calmed by the panicked coda of my hyperventilations. We all have our lows.
Impotency
Stagnancy-bred frustration Angry at what I wanted to do but didn’t What I didn’t do but could have. Listlessness taints everything, Even my rage is impotent.
Frustration
I’ve been feeling it so long I’ve forgotten it’s name. It comes and it goes, Like the tide With its ebbs and flows, Like the moon It waxes and wanes, It is never really gone, Just lingering behind sight, Lulling with monotony Like waves crashing Against the shore, Till I’m waist-deep In despair, waiting To cycle out.
Insomnia
They promised that insomnia Would bring words Like long awaited rain, But instead it Keeps you awake too late With your distractions And makes you miss your thoughts, Then sleep long enough For the days To seem one. Insomnia only brings Diversions, Frivolity And agitation, And when that Wears you out, A sleep too black For thought to thrive. Insomnia doesn’t bring rain; It is the storm grey Cloud that teases And threatens, Then flitters away Whispering promises To come another day.