Tag Archives: poetry

AGE

I caught my reflection today.
The face was older than I remembered.
Lines stretched from corners.
And blotchy dots lie just below the surface.
I think what startled me most were the eyes.
Coarse, green circles that seemed to bore right into me.
There was still quite a bit of light to them.
But age had altered them, too.
It’s a funny thing,
my reflection.
My body continues to become defunct and rigid.
But my mind feels as though it has grown younger
and vivid.

FREE

I feel absolutely reckless.
Light and
overjoyed.

A crazy energy is pulsing.
Vibrating thoughts.
Exciting me.

It has been a long while since
I felt this.
But I remember it and
embrace it.

A shine in my eyes,
a hum in my voice.
Free.

Bridge the Gap

Sometimes,

there is a lapse

in my brain.
Do you know?
Its like a missed beat,

a skipping record,

a scratched CD.
I am one place,

and then another.

No recollection.

No memory of the in between.
Is it repitition?

Is it boredom?

Is it too much focus on distant reality?
Its like I am asleep

in this world

and awake in another

but only for a moment.
Do I bridge the gap

and then snap back

without remembering?

TOXIC

My heart beats loud
in my chest
as the nerves
give way to unrest.

A toxic potion
of anxiety and depression.
I swallowed it whole
and can feel the pressure.

With my mind
I tried to push the weight
but after hours,
I was still in the same place.

Trapped
by my own emotion.
Frantically
grappling with though erosion.

I’ve sent out the flare
and am waiting on the answer.
Will time bring someone
to be my savior?

CARRY ME

Can you carry me?
Because I can’t.
I’ve carried so many so far.
I’ve been used, borrowed, begged and forced.
I can no longer take this course.

Can I ask you how it became this way?
What has changed you to the person so?
I don’t think you know.
Nobody does.

I am sick of this.
I am tired and low.
Can I rely on someone else for once?
Once?
Once!

For me,
not their image of me.
Their projection of me.
The actual me.

I was told that ignorance is bliss.
The older I get,
The more truth I see to it.
For what the ignorant don’t carry, I must.
And it is a long, weary road.
Can you carry me?