Dear-Me, Why Did You Stop Believing?

I miss composing.

I miss the dance of words

tripping over words

and rhythm-

jarring and discordant

or sweet

and slow,

like blood or sap

(ironic they both are life-liquid, is it not?)

 

Like blood or sap,

it runs in me, this

music

but I have no melody

and no words

so it aches and burns

and I can’t stop it …

 

I fear

I have lost the talent-

these words no longer sparkle

or flutter with life.

 

They’re just

motionless,

like still-smoking ashes

(perhaps they once were beautiful

but they are not

anymore)

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A Poem A Day (Day #30)

Good morning readers. This is the last day of the “Write  a poem every day for thirty days” challenge that I set myself to. Granted, I missed two days and published those poems a day late, but otherwise, I do believe that this was a smashing success in regards to refueling my creativity. I hope that you guys found a few that you liked. I’d like to thank all the people who gave me likes and follows; it was really encouraging and gave me a lot of motivation to write. 

Is it possible

to be a ghost

of yourself?

 

Somehow less than a shell

and more like a spirit

draped in a melancholy fashion

over the shoulders of a living person.

 

It seems

as though I have lost my colors,

the vibrancy sucked from my veins

until I am pale and paper thin.

 

I fear

I may never

find them

again.

A Poem A Day (Day #29)

Everyone promises that

“Things will get better.”

 

How cliche-

the same words in their

monotonous pattern

falling from well-wishes

and hallmark cards,

loudly proclaiming,

“Get well soon.”

 

The phrase falls unbidden

from lips that have yet to taste the

sweet, bitter poison

from the golden chalice from which we

are forced to drink

until our veins burn with poison

and our minds are cloudy

with the hazy visions

of an oracle.

 

But things

will get better.

 

I say,

let it hurt.

Let it burn.

Cry and don’t be ashamed.

Feel the poison in your veins

and know that it is killing you

and laugh all the while.

 

Because sometimes,

things don’t get better.

 

A Poem A Day (Day #28)

The loneliness is a-

tangible weight

that falls from the ceiling as I mumble

broken bits of poetry

to try to fill the

horrible

silence.

 

It presses on my heart,

installing some vague panic there-

as if I should run,

but I don’t know what from.

 

It keeps me from sleeping,

from dreaming

(what’s the point of living-

without the beauty of dreams?)

 

But, when I do sleep

and dream

it’s a torrent of nightmares

and broken glass.

 

I wear my loneliness like a cloak,

the mantle of a king

overseeing the midnight silence-

a kingdom composed

of blankets heaped high and

pillows flung across the room-

lasting only until  

daybreak

heralds the coming

of a new morn.

 

A Poem A Day (Day #27)

I, I, I-

my poetry echoes with it.

 

Me, myself, and I.

 

Doesn’t it feel so

selfish?

 

As if someone really wants to read

the ramblings of some lonely soul-

anonymous through the internet,

whose poetry echoes the selfishness

of some temper tantrum prone toddler

who still believes that the house

is the world

and the world revolves

around I.

 

I feel-

I want-

I wish-

 

It follows a template

that screams of emotion

but an emotion

all my own.

 

Selfish.

 

A Poem A Day (Day #26)

Lady Luck, why have you forsaken me?

What did I do to displease you so?

The path you wish me to walk lay over the sea,

but it is a path where I cannot go.

He was so kind, with quiet grace

and a delicate fervor in the fight.

But I’m so far from my time and place,

and he walks in the light.

What would a shadow creature such as I,

do with such a lovely soul-

other than smother it until it would die

in hope of feeling whole.

Dear Lady Luck, I send you this plea.

Let me become a ghost, then let me be.

A Poem A Day (Day #25)

The doctor is working around the clock-

the patient is turning blue.

 

I scream so silently in the night,

my fingers gripping the bedsheets tight-

a blind panic,

a blind pain.

 

Let them live,

let them live,

let them live.

 

They don’t have long,

the doctor says.

So pay your final respects.

 

I’m so sorry,

so sorry,

so very sorry.

 

I stand beside their graves.

The air smells of freshly turned dirt,

and the salty tang of bitter hurt-

and the tears pour like the falling rain,

and my heart, it aches, with awful pain.

 

The life they lost

the life I gain-

this life will never be the same.

 

Rest in peace,

please rest in peace,

rest.

 

The doctor is still scratching his head,

confused by their sudden illness

and I lay silently in my bed,

knowing that I was the virus.

 

A Poem A Day (Day #24)

A man walked up to a woman

and he said,

“My dear, you’re beautiful.”

 

She smiled sweetly at him,

and her mask cracked right in two.

 

In the cracks he could see

the depths of a world unknown.

The sparkle of a million constellations

in the darkness of her unexplored skies.

 

He saw pain,

a dark writhing mass

that lingered ‘neath the sky-

and the smallest glimmer of hope,

far too resilient to die.

 

He saw the bitter struggle

between the darkness and the light.

He saw she was exhausted

from the rough, ongoing fight.

 

So he took her hand,

and looked her in the eye.

 

He said,

“My dear,

this darkness is in me too,

and it will be until we die.”

A Poem A Day (Day #23)

She is beautiful

and she walks with a grace

all her own.

 

But she ducks through crowds

as though she is unaware

of her gracefulness;

as if she is ashamed

of the lightness of her walk.

 

Let me tell you,

dear friend-

you have made a wider impact

treading lightly

than those who rush to tramp

down the soil

(desperate to make their marks,

longing to be remembered).

 

I can see her sadness from

across a room,

but she carries it far better

than I ever could.

 

She is beauty

and grace

incarnate-

 

I pray one day,

she can see it too.

 

A Poem A Day (Day #22)

I fear this sadness will swallow me whole-

it’s needle claws are reaching up

from somewhere between my ribs,

waving like feelers as it

scents the air for the cloying sweet smell

of happiness decomposing-

candy guts swimming in gelatin blood

(can we find our happiness there?)

 

Because my friends

(my so-called friends)

always ask, ‘Why don’t you eat more?’

 

Why can’t you understand,

there’s no happiness to be found in food

and in a perpetual search for a

desperately needed cure-

why waste my time on something

that brings no pleasure?

 

Because I fear this sadness with swallow me whole

and I’m growing weary of this constant running

with no direction and no sense of purpose-

just running,

as if staying in motion can stave away the drowning.

 

Sometimes it can,

but it rarely

does.

 

It doesn’t even feel like sadness-

more like some deep set longing

(like an itch that can’t be scratched);

if I’m not happy,

then would it not make sense

that I am sad?

 

This is a longing for those peaceful

sunny days when the clouds were mere wisps

in a crystal blue sky, when I was calm

and my mind did not war with my heart.

 

But I fear that this sadness will swallow me whole,

and steal away the vibrancy of the sunshine

and the beauty of an autumn time breeze.

I feel my colors slipping away.

 

Sometimes we must resign ourselves

to living our lives out

in

monochrome gray.