Untitled for Lack of Trying

I don’t think I’ve ever published one of my poems here (actually, that’s a lie. I “published” one.). I don’t usually feel the need to share things so private. I’ve always felt that poetry is intimate. The word play choice that goes into it can be extremely personal. And most of my poems are privately owned; but for once, I felt like sharing. (And, yes, I am still alive!)

 

Selfsame

Physically burnt & mentally abused

Purely abashed; every moment suffering

I am spinning

I am falling & running

Fast, faster

Aching sides, elevated heart rate

Gasping breaths that lack the required amount of oxygen to survive.

And so I stop

Give in and let him take me

To hell

Or, is it heaven??

 

It’s hard to tell when the line between pleasure and pain is so convoluted..

 

The Window

mia looking

     The Window

Mia sits at the window
looking outside.
I never have to wonder,
why.

What’s on her mind,
What does she think?

Staring blankly, towards
the kids
In another life they would be friends
making mud pies, or
playing in imaginary lands, or
jumping rope
if only she were coordinated enough.

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