Patches of Poetry

Slide

2010-11-28T21:23:00.002-05:00

There it is again -
that ache,
a twinge of sadness,
a longing for something missing,
although I know not what.
It bubbles up inside me
at unexpected moments,
catching me by surprise,
pulling me down.

At times,
the tears well up, too.
Sometimes appropriate,
sometimes not.
I feel like I'm losing my equilibrium,
my inner balance,
the part of me that just knows
that even when times are tough
everything will be all right.

I feel like I'm riding a roller coaster,
except that I don't remember
getting on the wild ride
and I can't get off
because the ride never ends.
One moment I'm happy,
the next fighting tears.

Wash, rinse, repeat.

I wanted this to be over.
I still do.
I've tried so hard,
each painful step an arduous trek
more like climbing a mountain
than a ladder.

Is this all that is waiting for me at the top?
I've climbed and climbed
only to reach the top of the slide
where the only direction to go
is down.

And this time,
who will catch me
at the bottom?

Prisons

2009-09-21T05:04:00.003-04:00

We build our own prisons.
Some are gilded cages
wrought of fine silver and gold.
Some are houses of sticks and straw
providing illusory security.
Some are stone fortresses
keeping the prisoner in
and the world out.

What they all have in common
is that they are prisons of
our own making.

We build them of hurts and insecurities
broken trusts
broken hearts.
We build them of lies and half-truths.
We build them of expectations -
those we have of ourselves
those others have of ourselves
those that we think others have of ourselves.
We consider ourselves prisoners of circumstance
fate
luck.

We are the prison wardens
guarding against a prison break
ensuring that the facility remains secure
though in security, it may also be bleak.
We are the maids and the servents and the butlers
ensuring that in the gilded palace
the prisoner is seemingly happy
though unable to leave.

Or is he?

We build our own prisons, it is true.
But because we build them...

...we can also set ourselves free.

Lost my voice

2007-12-18T22:10:00.000-05:00

I wish I knew
how to tell you
everything that's on my mind.
But I can't.
It's as if my lips are sealed
like a dam blocking the
torrent of words and emotions
threatening to break forth.
You say you won't judge me--
but that's a promise easily made
and easily broken.
How can I know?
And anyway,
if I judge me,
why shouldn't you?
How can I give voice
to my doubts and fears
(none of them new,
but many of them had
seemingly been in hibernation)
when doing so will shatter
the facade of strength
I've worked so hard to build
and maintain?
A mask so strong that
even I started to believe it.
But while I'm trying
to keep up this show of strength,
I can feel myself slowly
crumbling inside,
as it becomes harder
to keep up the act.
Still, I'm determined
not to disappoint you.
It's bad enough to disappoint myself--
I can't let you down.
It isn't even so bad all the time, anyway;
just that the highs
aren't as high
and the lows are, well, lower.
The colors are duller
(so I dress myself brightly)
and the music has faded
to a dissonant tone.
But I find myself acting
like all is still well
because how can I tell you
I'm not who you think I am?
So is it any wonder
that it seems like I've
lost my voice?

Frustration

2007-08-24T11:04:00.000-04:00

What's this feeling coming over me,
one I thought I'd left behind?
Though I'm searching for distraction,
true relief is hard to find.
I'm trying so very hard to fight it,
this restless, aching, itching, burning.
But though I strive ever so hard,
still I'm left with this empty yearning.

No! Not now! I'll fight temptation!
My feelings will find other forms of demonstration.

(Like this humble, somewhat sappy poem...hey, whatever works, right? ;) )

the world is grey

2007-04-26T14:42:00.000-04:00

The world is grey

the grey of drizzling rain
of cold winter mornings
of an overcast summer's day

oh, there are flashes of color
here and there--
a genuine smile,
a shared moment,
and--dare I say it?
a thrill of laughter

other days are blackest night
and the haunts of the darkest hour
fill the mind and soul
when the cold, unfeeling abyss
seems devoid of all light

but mostly, the world is grey
the color of unyielding dreariness
of feelings dulled to numbness
the color of forever in-between

the feeling of being dead inside
and the vivacious outside is just a mask
of gaudy glitz and tinsel
which looks great onstage
but which looks cheap and dull
at the end of the show

Colors fade, the stage makeup comes off
and once again, the world is grey

So hard?

2006-07-17T18:22:00.000-04:00

Is it that hard, really?

Am I so untouchable
that you can't reach out
and comfort me?

Am I so hard to be around
that you avoid me?

Do you really think
I need so much
that I couldn't possibly
have anything left to give?

Does my world seem so dark
that a little light
couldn't begin to penetrate?

Am I so insignificant--
though once I thought
that I knew you
and you knew me?

Is it that hard, really--
just to be my friend?

"Oh L-rd, the things you can't afford..."

2006-07-12T12:31:00.000-04:00

I can't afford to speak up, but I can't afford to be silent.

I can't afford dreaming, but I can't afford not to sleep.

I can't afford to trust, but I can't afford to be too skeptical.

I can't afford to leave, but I can't afford to stay.

I can't afford sanity, but I can't afford the lack of it.

I can't afford to break down my walls, but I can't afford to leave them standing.

I can't afford to think too much, but I can't afford to think too little.

I can't afford to care, but I can't afford indifference.

Sometimes

2006-06-18T23:25:00.000-04:00

Sometimes,
I wish that I could show you
all the things bottled up
inside my head.
There's so much of me
that no one ever sees
and sometimes I wish
that it wasn't like that.
But nonetheless,
I keep silent.
There are so many things
I'm hiding up there
that are too dangerous to reveal.
I'm afraid of rejection.
I'm afraid of being hurt.
Perhaps, most of all,
I'm afraid of indifference--
for if it takes so much out of me
to show you these parts of
my deepest, darkest self
the very least you could do
is care.

Do you know me?

2006-05-24T13:31:00.000-04:00

Do you know me?
You think you do.
You take your measurements of me,
make your judgments,
and move on with your day.
But what do you see?
You see the surface,
the front I put up for
the world's viewing pleasure.
My life is a whole book,
and you've but glanced at
the titles of the chapters,
if that.
If you're really lucky,
you might have gotten to
read a page or two in each.
But still, your knowledge of me
is so far from complete
as to be laughable.
Do you know what makes
my heart beat faster?
Do you know the stuff
my dreams are made of?
Do you know why I am
who I am?
Do you even know who I am?
Do you?

Tired

2006-05-08T14:36:00.000-04:00

I'm tired.
Tired of being "strong"
whatever that means
when I don't feel
strong at all
Tired of pretending
that I'm just fine
when I know I'm not
and everyone else
knows too
Tired of hoping
only to be disappointed
when things don't go
the way I'd hoped
they would
(and I knew they wouldn't
but hoped anyway)
Tired of trying
always too hard
or not hard enough
Tired of being tired
but this world is not for rest

Something About Your Smile

2006-05-04T10:21:00.000-04:00

There is something wrong
about your smile today,
though I'm having trouble
figuring out just what
it is that bothers me.
You probably practiced
in front of the mirror
this morning, working on
that "perfect" smile,
but you can't fool me.
Not for a minute.
It's not that it seems fake
per se, but something...
something is still amiss.
But I just can't put
my finger on what is "off"--
you would appear to most
to be the picture of
contented happiness.
Oh, but now I see.
A close study of
your face reveals the
answer to my question:
Your smile does not reach your eyes.

Relief

2006-04-25T15:14:00.000-04:00

Peace of mind--
to speak my mind without fear
not to have to analyze every single word
that comes out of my mouth
because it might cause offense

Space to breathe--
the tension slowly seeps away
leaving me able to finally
take a deep breath and
just be myself again

Freedom to--
think my own thoughts
live my own life
(on my own schedule)
get myself back together

Freedom from--
criticism, both subtle and not
constriction of self
having to pretend
always being judged

Tinge of happiness--
that I'm safe for now
a little more sane
that life is "fine"
that I have friends who care

All of this, gone too soon
What does "relief" mean to you?

Moving on...

2006-04-07T11:38:00.000-04:00

Life is full of painful moments
Hurtfulness that rends the soul
But though my heart is near to breaking
I can't take my eyes off the goal

I don't want to go through life unhappy
Spreading sadness wherever I go
I want my friends to want to be around me--
I've already lost one, so I should know.

I must build myself up, bit by bit,
Growing stronger with each day
With a little help from those who care
Somehow, sometime I'll find the way...

Keep the silence

2006-04-01T23:38:00.000-05:00

There's so much I wish I could say.
I need to speak, to express
all of the thoughts and emotions
that disturb my mind
and tear at my heart.
But yet, I hold back.
What I do not say
cannot be used against me.

Slipping

2006-03-27T18:53:00.000-05:00

A look in the eyes.
A muttered word.
A flash of truth.

Careful, girl.
You're slipping.

A careless remark.
A click of "send".
A question unavoided.

Careful, girl.
You're slipping.

A silent tear.
A face turned away.
An ache in the heart.

Careful, girl.
You're slipping.

A nightmare in life.
A self-torture that won't end.
A soul that begs for rest.

Careful, girl.
You're slipping.

Questions

2006-03-20T10:44:00.000-05:00

Why me, G-d?
Why must life be full of pain?
-broken only briefly by glimmers
of joy.
Why do I feel like I'm all alone,
with no one I can truly turn to?
Why do I feel like I must endure
this sad existence
because I deserve no better?
I cannot cast a gaze upon my soul
without it being filled with loathing,
contempt, disgust, self-reproof.
Why can I not see the beauty,
the worth
that others claim is so self-evident?
Why is it so hard for me to like myself,
let alone love myself?
Why does my mind turn on me
the way it is wont to do,
leaving me praying to You
that the end be swift and soon?
Why does my soul turn away from
allowing me the joys within my reach?
Is my pain the only way
You can draw me near to You?
But Your attentions leave me
broken, battered from fighting,
losing my own internal civil war.
It is so hard to come close to You
when all I can hear
is the litany of my own internal demons
telling me how horrible I am-
how mean, how selfish, how unworthy.
Sometimes I can push them away
for a time-
but all too often I believe them.
I know they speak the truth.
And I wonder how anyone could love
such a creature as despicable as I.
Why, oh why can't I love myself?
Why can't I believe that I am loveable?
And if I am what I believe,
why am I asking, "Why me?"
Why not me?