Still Poetry

Sickness

Spreads her wings like wildfire

Simultaneously slow decay

Waiting game

Disintegrating every body

inside out

I’m tired,

I’m okay

 

Hanging onto words I say

delicately

Afraid they might out me

Reveal magicless scribbles 

Posing desperately

As creative word counts

And clever manuscripts

Five to six lines at a time

My mind is distracted

Extracting only little bites

Of my true thoughts

I am less poet than human these days

Finding ways around

Vulnerability

It hurts too much to express

directly

So I dress her up prettily

Refine her curls softer,

More easily managed

No one has to know of these frayed

ends slowly coming undone

Too damaged for anything but

to be cut and forgotten

I struggled to wake up the other morning

Mourning the loss of my fire

Sickness spreading like water

Prose smudged in salt splatter

Thank you for listening

Admittedly

I’m not even fully awake yet

I clear my throat

Choke on lost words

Pen my antidote

So I can face this pain in silence

I don’t feel

so much myself

Just a shadow

of my former

fires smoldering on the shelf

Pages I’ve not shed light on

for some time 

My heartache echoes

In unfinished conversations 

Futile concepts

and failed accomplishments

They say

Whatever doesn’t kill you

Makes you stronger

Well I’ve

held out a little longer

Than I should

Just to show the world

I’m good

It doesn’t hurt

Anymore

Perhaps, I’m pretty sure

It never hurt that bad before either

I’m fine…