This destiny to challenge my strength hurts.
Frustrates, not having a better grip.
Is this my wide open place?
All I do is tell.
Gush.
Flow.
Empty.
When I’m done cracking up I can see which rodents still try to salvage my inhospitable field.
They look for me, for tufts of my hair.
Clues that I once was.
The figure I took.
The melodies I sang along to.
Adrift and always loved.
Dig in to see my rocky skin, my sandy hair, my trapped words.
The silence they mimic is just for this moment.
You don’t want to miss it.
It’s clean.
The way I was.
Further I go…
Beneath less waste…
Moaning, for the sake of bathing in a last lungful of your breath…
Now shut.
What did you think
Comments
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Emptyness.. abound
Wow there is a heartwrenching despair here, especially in these lines :When I’m done cracking up I can see which rodents still try to salvage my inhospitable field.
They look for me, for tufts of my hair.
Clues that I once was.
This poem lays someone between denial and acceptance... somewhere along a path of redefinition... to me anyways. I like the breaks in your rythm , it adds to the confused and wanting picture you paint.
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