Poems

[Guest guest]

i wrote poems yesterday, wanted to share. it felt good writing them...

Empty

I feel the anger coming on again,

steeped in fear and blustering with rage

diluted by blind - profoundly blind - hope and praise

I feel it coming on again, but I don't

know what to do.

I don't

know how to handle it,

the hot and whole potato of it, a mass sitting in the

pit of me

waiting and wrestling to burn and scorch,

should i let it out

Should I let it out?

I don't let it out (s), I stuff it down (a), keep it in place (f),

burning within (e),

for it to stay (sa)(fe) inside,

where it stays

and decays

a fiery, rotting, seething mass

a trodden, rotten, twisting thing,

waiting, plotting, hating, festering, and squirming to

escape

But wait

wait long enough, and it

seeps out

slowly soaks in

melds and meshes and molds itself to the chasms and cavities of my

being

stomach

lungs

intestines

bowels

liver

heart

chest, throat, thighs, eyes, face

becoming one with the cells, spreading and permeating and infiltrating

until it is no longer a mass, an entity in one place, but a

fact

a biological fact that

slows & drags & weighs me down

The mass has formed, deformed, and become

me

flooding and congealing and rearranging cells,

leaving in its wake an eternity

a silence with only one name:

Emptiness.

__________________________________

Exposure

She turns on a dime,

only her dime isn't worth a dime,

it's worth a selfless provocation,

a whipping

around

an energetic

storm

tyranny

at its worst

Her eyes get wide and big: pawns

pain, like puddles, forms and drops

and spills and pours and fills and spews

everywhere

I am covered in black energy tar,

a buildup of resentment and hate, like

the filling of a great human vessel of

disgust

Confused and ashamed, I used to turn away,

a flower ducking its head to avoid

torrential rain

But the rain eroded the soil.

It beat down upon the

cherished and cherishing flower

And though it left the flower's pretty face intact,

it washed and cleaned and picked and screamed away

the protective earthen covering around it.

It left the flower's roots

exposed

But I am learning to regrow

myself.

Forgiveness

I listen to the words, but they are secondary

She is a fire hydrant,

a pent-up, burnt-out, dam of rage

with its gushing, raving, ranting torrent

pointed at me

What do you hold onto, while it rushes over you?

To whom do you turn when you lift your gaze skyward and say,

" Please, let her see. Please, let this be the day that she

sees. "

For to give

For give

Forgive

To forgive is to

give

and

give up

at the same time.

Untitled

The flower

stands up to the rain

by bending

and asserts itself

by smiling towards the sun