Books On a Shelf

Books on a shelf–
words enter my being,
characters worm their way
into my heart and soul,
searing their experiences
into my thoughts and
sharing their memories,
mixing with mine;
living a thousand lives
from the safety of my couch
knowing I’ll never see their
worlds with my eyes–
only through
books on a shelf.

Sharing with Hedgewitch at her blog Verse Escape.

 

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Inside Out

Once again I’m hosting at Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie for Saturday’s Mix.  The challenge today was to write about watching someone whether known or secretly.

Looking at myself
from the outside in:
crow’s feet at the eyes
from squinting beneath
the garden’s sunshine;
untamed blond hair,
baby fine and natural;
blue eyes with wisdom
hard learned from mistakes;
wrinkles line the mouth–
smile or scowl lines?
Overall not the face of
fifty years of life.
Success in career
Fiercely independent
Happily on my own
Walking to my own beat

Looking at myself
from the inside out:
a bruised heart from
those that shouldn’t hurt
simply won’t heal;
exhaustion from working–
doing the same thing
over and over again
the cycle of life drudgery;
the aches of arthritis persist
no matter how much
ignored and denied;
wisdom and love seem
trapped within insecurity
of teenage longing for more.
Going through the motions
Hating to ask for help
Isolated from family
Wanting to run away

Why oh why can’t a
woman judge herself
from someone else’s shoes?

The Heart’s Underground

Today’s challenge at d’Verse Poets is to write a poem about the underground.  Here is my humble offering.

Paying bills and feeding
the cats and the kid–
doing it all–work and school,
just like I’m supposed to do.
Losing myself in the process,
sinking into the heart’s underground.

Working through the day
respectable, clean-cut and clever,
climbing the corporate ladder
doing the grind of nine to five
and another on the weekend
just like I’m supposed to.

Five o’clock signals the change–
rush to the dark and safe
escape of a bar stool and beer,
numbing the pain and guilt
and the hurt of feeling guilt,
never truly doing what I’m supposed to.

Guilt, hate, and pain co-mingle,
dancing in the chambers of my heart
destroying relationships and self–
unable to pull away like I’m supposed to
and truly be there for the ones I love,
to face the pain to forgive myself.

Forgiveness of an imperfect human,
loving and caring that turns
to bitter tears of self-loathing.
Alcohol induced numbing–
How can I do what I’m supposed to
and nurture and love through the pain?

How can I make them spend time with me
when I can’t stand to be around myself?
Isolated, alone, trapped within those
four chambers, the underground of my heart.
Not knowing how to walk through the
concrete walls of addiction in order
to do what I’m supposed to do.