I don’t know what it means to “act your age” but I get that a lot, and at 41, I should understand it, but I am clueless. I was raised in a very small town, but always knew I wasn’t like the other cowpeople around; I was meant to be a city girl, and that’s where I am: in Scottsdale, AZ. I’ve had a passion for writing since the 7th grade; possibly before that but 7th grade sticks out as the first year I really got into writing poetry, journal entries, and short stories. I cannot have a conversation that is even half as good as when I write. Writing gets my point across not just to the reader, but most often myself. I use writing as a tool of therapy, as the more I write, the better I understand who it is that I am in this world. All of my closest friends tell me I should do something with the talent they see in me, but I’m my worst critic. Nevertheless, I will put some of my thoughts out there and welcome any comments, good or bad, about them.
Samples; Inconsistently Consistent
I went back in time, inside my mind To piece things together, help me define The person I am, in my soul at my core Now I see intensely, like never before Am I good and decent, evil and wicked Where are the people who used to come kick it Is it me or maybe them, how do I know Open or closed book what do I show Shady and cowardly, always felt lionhearted Means to an end, or have I even started? Suicidal one moment, grateful the next Sometimes I feel cursed, this must all be a hex But then there are days the sun shines so brightly, I cling to hope and goodwill tightly Some days I wake up and thank god for the day, and some I curse god and yell take me away How can I be such a various combination Of self pity, dark thoughts, wishing abomination And happiness, optimism, positive proclamations Go from everyone deserves love and look kindly on others To check out these smug and dicklike motherfuckers I wish I had answers, it’s beyond bpd Or bipolar, tripolar Untie the knot that is me My heart soars then heart breaks it aches Til in pain It’s physical it’s real but I am not insane I’d say misunderstood but I don’t know myself And nobody really cares, unless you have wealth If they did, it’d be clear and they’d help dive into it, but if you’ve got the cash they’re all about let’s do this But I’m not that way, to force them to care If it isn’t there, it’s not there, any other ways unfair So Why then you may ask do I post this publicly? It’s simple the answer is to look back and see. In case of an accident, who knows what will be No one can say I didn’t ever show the real me
Hurting this pain is bothersome I’ll try and explain without too many complaints I apologize now for the picture I’m getting ready to paint It’s beyond screaming from dope fiends it’s real it stings never goes only lingers from tips of toes to my fingers I just can’t escape it My mind feels raped by it must be what’s eating Gilbert grape it seems petty that I chase it into the depths of darkness I feel helpless—why won’t this elude me the only thing that never forgets to include me the sorrow and pain is on constant active duty. Tears fall like rain more like a thunderstorm the only thing that it conforms to is fear and disdain..forgive me I know this seems insane in the mild puffy marshmallow that appears to be a brain..it’s that time again for memory lane Truth screams this will be endless haunting me til I’m penniless poor and wretched while everyone else sits back to tape it Must be for entertainment washed up in an entanglement of the good vs evil it’s slowly strangling me into submission—sounds a whole lot like fishing for compliments maybe you see as a cry for help don’t mistake me for a girl who pleads for controversy because it is only my souls barely breathing in this decreasingly small house that probably won’t ever stop fucking with me haunting everything else that I see—turning what used to be magic into all that is tragic, it never lets me I’m afraid that I’ll never be free so indeed let me leave this I’m grieving but please don’t grieve for me—apparently I don’t deserve it okay Thank you for asking This task is wearing masks on the inside and out I may help others but even there I have doubts—and if it’s not for me what is this shit about?
All poems are copyright of the originating author. Permission must be obtained before using or performing others' poems.
You win (27/09/2019)
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