If your game was to steal my voice, you win.
Words flew like great winged bats
From the cavernous recesses of my soul
Out the gaping open mouth of my empty head
Into the approaching darkness.
Flying for an eternity.
If your game was to collect me, I lose.
I gifted myself like a spoiled toddler's Christmas parcel
Wrapped in shiny paper and ribbons.
Cooed over briefly, then torn to shreds,
And left in a heap on the floor.
The toy, too, abandoned for another.
Each thickens the scars that are becoming my new skin.
startling heartfelt metaphors here. the last line must have made you shiver as you wrote it. i did.
ReplyDeleteMay you dwell in beauty and abundance all your days.
ReplyDeleteThank you for the comments. The line did and does make me shiver. I am working on trying to write as powerfully about the good things in my life. But the strong images come best when I am hurt or disappointed by someone/something. I am surrounded by beauty and abundance at every turn. The icky things just flair up once in a while.
ReplyDeletePeace to you both.
Your poetry are always fantastic and wonderful. There is images I can see and feelings I can feel.
ReplyDeleteJust because you write "sad" poems or hurt feelings that you can't see the beauty or enjoy the abundance of life. It's probably the opposite!
Just write, write it all, and don't worry about anything or anyone. That's the freedom of writing..