trapped behind these
one-way eyes
inside
the lies we wear like make-up
spread thick
slick
with a spackling knife
layer slapped
on layer
we play Potter
with counterfeit clay
covering lines and
carving new ones
making mud masks
that bury us alive
that harden
into barrel helms
heavy
on our heads
necks bent
beneath the weight
of myths we can’t remember
shoulders hunched
around our hearts
a blockade
gazes fixed
on fingers
This poem was written in response to my poetry group’s July prompt “differences”. The first line popped into my head and inspired the rest of the poem.
Dark night of the soul
Cold
And alone
You whisper
To the blackness
You speak
To the abyss
You shout
You scream
And watch
No Feel
Your words
Vanish
Into the void
You listen
To the silence
You stand
Still
feet in cold sand
Nothing in your hand
But the wind
The world pulls away
Like a wave receding
Into the never-ending night
Ever receding
Only receding
Further
And further
Away
from you
You exhale
All the breath
You’ve ever breathed
Molecules of memories
Particles of pain and joy
Drift
Into the ether
Insides carved out
Walls scraped bare
I am just a shell
Brittle and broken
I must be broken
because nothing fills me
Rains fall but never gather
rushing away in streams beneath me
Dust blows in
on sandpaper wind
gritty in the eyes, the throat
then blows away again
Leaves and flower petals flutter
down down down
only to dissolve
pixel by pixel before my eyes
Emptiness becomes anxiety
the urge to fill me up
to scavenge
for berries
for blood
for dirt and leaves
crab apples
mud
Bits of glass
and shrapnel
Things that hurt
work best
At least the pain is
Something
Familiar
I know pain
Thoughts that slash and burn
the same worn paths
Searing scars
deep into the folds of
my aching brain
Until I’m sick
and I lie here
wondering which is worse
emptiness or pain
What would happen
If I sat still in the
hollow
heavy
empty
void
If I unclenched my fists
and let the falling rain flush
the shards from my flesh
If I let myself
Bleed
Would I remember
how to breathe?
“Help me, it’s like the walls are caving in Sometimes I feel like giving up But I just can’t It isn’t in my blood” In My Blood, by Sean Mendes is like my anthem these days. My ANTHEM.
For a long time, I’ve been wondering…Why can’t I just give up? And when I say “give up” I don’t necessarily mean stop living. I mean, Why can’t I stop caring? Why can’t I stop fighting? Why does anything flipping matter to me at all anymore?
Believe me, I have TRIED giving up. Once upon a very dark time, I stood on the edge of the bridge overlooking an ice-cold, black river, just to ask myself the question…Could I? Would I? Am I brave enough? Desperate enough? Tired enough? If that freaks you out, don’t worry. I knew the answer before I stood there. But for some reason, I still had to ask.
My immediate response is usually, No. Occasionally, I add something like: I’m just working through some things.
How could I be depressed? Depressed people don’t get out of bed and shower and put on clean clothes and go to work. Depressed people don’t dance when a good song comes on or sleep out for Hamilton tickets or go to Red Sox games. Depressed people don’t host holiday parties and laugh around the campfire.
Grief does strange things to a person
I think it’s the sense of being untethered
Unmoored
Like you’ve lost your anchor
I don’t blame her
That woman from the Wild book
Who lost her mom and then lost herself
Left everything behind
And went a little crazy
Grief sets a person adrift
The scenery changes, boundary lines shift
Nothing looks the same
Nothing is the same
Including yourself
So much of who we are is defined
By our surroundings – people and places
They shift, we shift
They move, we move
Lose them and we are lost
At least for a little while
It’s Rejection that kills me
pain so similar to grief,
it’s like dying,
like being stabbed in the place just between my shoulder blades,
like being punched in the stomach with a lead fist,
like having a hand shoved into my chest, fingers wrapped around my heart
…and squeeeeezed…
slowly at first, because Rejection likes to watch the pain creep up my neck, over my face, into my limbs, my fingertips, so that I can’t move.
We may be tempted to believe that those acquainted with grief should take the smaller losses in stride. We may think that after the loss of a parent, a child, a sibling, a spouse, what’s so bad about selling your home or a child growing up or friends and family moving away? But I find it’s quite the opposite. Once acquainted with grief, all the other losses become greater.
Grief remembers grief. And when those feelings of loss come in like the tide, washing over my toes and ankles, in that moment my body, mind and spirit remember…I remember…I remember all the times the waves crashed into my thighs, my gut, my chest, even over my head. And the feelings, though I do not call to them, though I do not want them, though I hope against hope they will stay at sea…those feelings come anyway.
The sorrow, the heavy emptiness, like a vacuum stealing air from my lungs. “It’s hard to sleep, to even breathe, harder still to wake and leave.” The waves come and I can’t stop them. Wet and salty and cold enough to burn, they come. Until I’m drowning, full of a sorrow I can’t contain, and those wet, salty waves, spill over the shores of my eyes. Waves that run hot now, because they come from the deepest wells of my heart and soul, the place where love dwells…no matter how I try to wall it off, or pack it away in ice…there lies love, love that can’t stop, won’t stop, burning, yearning, turning toward the smallest open crack.
Oh dear friends, and oh my soul, grief remembers grief because love remembers love. And love never fails.
Lightning Bug 