Content warning: may be triggering to those that are experiencing emotional or traumatic struggles. Reader discretion is advised.
She started smoking again Feeling bones by finger curls And the nauseating hunger For someone to understand The hard lumps under skin And the satisfaction of a visible scapula Under the crushing, suffocating, smothering Weight of ten pounds Against the pull of Earth’s gravitational force When the greatest ally against one condition Becomes the pain of another Hoping that at the end of this cigarette She will find the cremated remains Of her claim to have it all under control
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Here’s a poem I wrote in 2016. Some poems age into themselves and their meanings change to readers over time based on current events. I won’t attempt to provide explanation or analysis. I do hope it resonates with you though.
A Moment Aflame
at tables cleaned and polished by our own hands we sit attempting personal renaissance: a moment in time caught fire. we sit, write, talk, eat, drink, breathe in- to creation the desperation for a life out- side of this very existence controlled by desire to satiate the disease of purpose symptoms driven deep into young minds by careless words; unanswered questions: unfulfilled dreams pushed onto another generation as lost grown children wander with empty eyes and imploding hearts.
they told us we were equal, instead, we are searching for explanations – why this world has treated our existences like matches: struck aflame burned out thrown away
Thank you so much for taking the time to read this poem today. If it speaks to you and you find connection, please let me know by liking, commenting, or sharing this post. This helps me know which posts my readers like best.
Remember, without you these words would serve no one other than myself and the company getting paid to host the data.