One bulb burns on a Sunday night
my room is dense with yellow light
And shadows on the solemn floor,
the wreckage of the night before.
A patchwork made from fallen clothing
books and bottles, and self-loathing
My heart is pinned with rank despair
and stinking hatred; in my chair
I am a nothing, filling jeans
or sleeping, eating cold baked beans
processing food and sight and sound
and tears; (now something quite profound
is happening, but not to me)
I'm a nautical nightmare, lost out at sea.
The waves are weaker; though they're rough
they cannot drown me dead enough
I'm kept here by my cowardice
my will; despite enough of this
I keep my head above the water
I am strong, I am strong; like mother, like daughter.
Author notes
Hm. Empowering, maybe? Or not. I don't know.
Please tell me what you think
Comments
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Empowering it is!
Bravo.
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Thank you! x
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