poem post!
Hi! I'm posting my own poetry this time! Two pieces from over the summer (I confess, I haven't written much poetry since)
WOMAN ON THE VERGE
She covers her ears with just
the palm of her hands, fingers
curled away
(she wants to be in contact
with as little of herself as possible,
given just a body to live in)
and presses silence to her skull.
She has only been shutting them out for a decade
(she used to just submit)
and their voices keep calling her name
(at least that way she can’t forget)
Now, when there is nothing left
to save or be saved, when her lips open
in football shapes, when her eyes highlight
underneath, she is:
open up on the inside
and piecing herself apart
and she is (a woman) on the verge
of responding
to the questions being hurled at her
of reacting
to accusations and demands
of piecing herself apart (she can
neither be some one she is,
or someone she is not
and without either,
she cannot cope)
she is (a woman) on the verge
of spilling out;
once again she is going to make a decision
(and once again she will not act)
But for a day or two, before she breaks
another time, she will pretend
that her head is locked with a skeleton key
and that this is her.
She is trying to shut them out again
but it is hard, because
they are already inside of her,
eating their way through
intestine, organ, and bone.
and
January
She etched “everybody lies”
Over the faded sharpie lines
With .5 pencil lead.
Ironically, intentionally,
The first tangible trace of her self destruction.
She said, “I probably shouldn’t do this”
And I said “No, probably
Not.” Cold, and
Distant like marbles,
And turned back to Hamlet
So she could push harder
And I wouldn’t have to look
:) :(
WOMAN ON THE VERGE
She covers her ears with just
the palm of her hands, fingers
curled away
(she wants to be in contact
with as little of herself as possible,
given just a body to live in)
and presses silence to her skull.
She has only been shutting them out for a decade
(she used to just submit)
and their voices keep calling her name
(at least that way she can’t forget)
Now, when there is nothing left
to save or be saved, when her lips open
in football shapes, when her eyes highlight
underneath, she is:
open up on the inside
and piecing herself apart
and she is (a woman) on the verge
of responding
to the questions being hurled at her
of reacting
to accusations and demands
of piecing herself apart (she can
neither be some one she is,
or someone she is not
and without either,
she cannot cope)
she is (a woman) on the verge
of spilling out;
once again she is going to make a decision
(and once again she will not act)
But for a day or two, before she breaks
another time, she will pretend
that her head is locked with a skeleton key
and that this is her.
She is trying to shut them out again
but it is hard, because
they are already inside of her,
eating their way through
intestine, organ, and bone.
and
January
She etched “everybody lies”
Over the faded sharpie lines
With .5 pencil lead.
Ironically, intentionally,
The first tangible trace of her self destruction.
She said, “I probably shouldn’t do this”
And I said “No, probably
Not.” Cold, and
Distant like marbles,
And turned back to Hamlet
So she could push harder
And I wouldn’t have to look
:) :(