rubber hands

i want to be nothing that exists in this world,
Jusr sit and twirl,
The danky fingers.

Some would see it,
Not I,
No I'm still afraid.

Writing in a diary,
It all feels the same,
One bloody day to day rambling.

Of the things which are the same,
In the rough and shallow carpet,
I just bought another flower.

But when the pen hits the page,
And I'm left to wonder why,
Why do I feel this way.

I try to make it better,
To sit about each day,
And keep myself busy.

But when the air lays still,
I feel like plastic in the factory,
Just bloop blap my skin is rubber.

I don't cry or sit wondered,
Or fathom in the deeper state,
I distract from something deeper.

But I live alone now,
The echos are silent to me,
I guess it all ends up the same anyway.

I want to say,
Vivacious and obstructions of gander,
But I know deep down I'm just simply afraid.

How do you calm the bitter cold soul of child,
Struck up on the back of the board with pain,
Unable to understand what it is?

I suppose I'll let it be

◄ holland bells

madness ►


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keith jeffries

Mon 10th Aug 2020 10:06


I speak of pen in hand and not a keyboard which can often get in the way of true creativity.

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keith jeffries

Mon 10th Aug 2020 10:04


An interesting poem which clearly comes from the heart. The fifth stanza is quite telling as many will be able to relate to it. The pen in hand is a real extension of who we are, as hand and arm are connected to our very being in all aspects of our humanity. The outpouring of pen on paper can be cathartic and a means of re connecting with who we are.

This poem speaks of desperation, an emotion which often produces the best poetry and this you have achieved in "Rubber Hands".

Thank you for this


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