The Monsters I Keep in My Mirror

8.

Envy is my lover

Wind blown
sharp stones
broken branches
Tears cried that no one could ever witness
a plant reaching throught the pavemnet
rushing feet, going somewhere,
just for the sun to set on their ambition
Bright flowers
butterflies drifting lazily in the sun
plants withering return to the dirt they were created from
all these places, all these beautiful things that draw you in
all the harsh realities that keep us up at night
we are blind to the struggles of the beautiful flower
we cannot see the joys of the stones that cut our feet
only aware of our pain, jealous of the butterflies freedom
we see the feet leading their way to success,
not the deluge of rain on a lonely walk home
the green green grass
a deadly suffocation
choked on our jealousy

9.
blood red apple, a fools temptation

the reddest of apples sitting on a high branch
a promise of sweet juice to the picker
stand reaching reaching always reaching
yearning, wishing, hoping
not an eye turned to the old wooden ladder
no thought of a helping hand
only selfish want
proved self worth
that apple has made a fool out of you
if a fool there ever was
to toil day in and day out for a prize you refuse to attain
missing the moons warm embrace of rest
you have been blinded by your pursuits
the apple is rotten
the tree lay dying
your beard now gray and long
now nothing but a hungry fool
oh the apple that bested you
sweet apple

Spoiler

I have been reading so much modernist poetry lately and this felt like it fit right in with that style. it is such a divergence from my usual style and I love that even if it isn't my favorite poem ever. I finally made good steps on my ever present promise to try out new poetic styles.

10.

Life passed me by like a sports car on the highway

photographs tattered, Held together by tape
speak of a person I barely remember
a smile I have forgotten
a girl who catches hot pink butterflies in her fists
and chased frogs at the base of a waterfall
the tell stories I have lost the words to describe
they bring to life the memories I wish to forget
ink spilled from lies I tried to write with clumsy fingers
obscuring the faces I used to love
eyes whos gaze would send shivers down my spine
now they only exist inside metal frames
tears could not capture them
laughter could not hold them
those faces were changed like water over stone
like clay on the potters wheel
loving hearts turned cold after a harsh winter
hateful eyes thawed by a summer sun
they slipped away from my grasp like sand
I will mourn them for an eternity
though I know in truth I have already forgotten them
time has made but fools of us
and it ticks on even now

11.
The essence of who she is

What does love see when she looks in the mirror
Is she pretty and perfect with the right shade of rouge
does she look tired and worn down
her hair in knots, her eyes dark
will her smile light up the darkest of rooms
is she the candle in the cold black night
does she have perfectly manicured nails
arms that strangle you and steal your breath
or arms that embrace you and give you rest
when she looks in that mirror, whatever she sees
is she glad for each feature and facet
does she hate every bit
does love look a lot like me
or am I too tarnished by hate
does she in fact dance with hate spinning and twirling
holding me in the middle, divided and torn
do they need eachother to stay balanced
yin and yang of life
does she even know me at all
these questions I hold for love leave me empty
as I look in the mirror does love see me
or will I stand here waiting so obsessed with my reflection
as she dances on without me
I look for her everywhere
maybe she danced in the sunset I never watched
perhaps she swims in the tears I never let fall
and she speaks with the words I feared to say
was I too blinded by my obsession with her
to witness the ripples she left in my sea
when love looks in the mirror what does she see
and when will I see those things reflected within me

.12
all these things born anew

dust adorns every corner
treasures long lost
memories gone too soon
fingerprints of ghosts long dead
crafted love and imagination forged from pain
where summer winds meet winter skies
my past can reside like a memorial
dreams put down my a time ravaged hand
picked up again by a hopeful one
the monotonous passage of time
encapsulated perfectly
a little piece of this forever

I see myself in the polished old metal
saved for a moment like an old photograph
parts of me I buried with my hopes
six foot deep hole dug by my forgetfulness
I was left here by someone wishing to forget
will I be loved again
by someone who understands my faults as beautiful
will everyone smile as the pass me by
glad to have seen me but not caring enough to stay
shall I be remembered fondly
or forgotten
left to live an unending existence of never being quite enough

13.
painted signs and words unspoken

Vocal cords stretched to a breaking point
Shouts that never fell on ears
Words spoken from a broken mouth
I've been screaming all my life
Locked in this lonely room
I wonder who holds the key
Was it ever even locked
or do I just feel safer in your ignorance
comforted by the fact you never cared
so I never tried to make you see me
All the times i painted pictures
Bright colors and ugly images
but I hid them in the attic
And let them cover in dust
I rot with them
Who would stop me
Who would find me

14.

until I feel nothing

my legs have gone numb
but it is more comfortable that way
the tingling sensation has given way to an utter lack of feeling
I could simply move and let the blood flow freely down to my feet
restoring life to these limbs
but I have found solace in this lack of sensation
Lost in the feeling of simply not feeling
I wonder if sit here long enough
if it will spread to the rest of my body
ever so slowly creeping up
Until it engulfs my heart completely
leaving me numb to it all
my senses cut off from the rest of the world
until the abrasions of hate and love feel like raindrops on my skin
numb until my fear feels like soft kisses
a numbness that seeps so deep that I don't hope
I don't cry I don't laugh
I don't feel the time passing by and changing me
there is a sort of bliss about the loss of feeling
I move my legs
let the blood flow
let the feeling seep back deep into my bones
and walk on

15.
growing pains

skipping down the sidewalks has given way to writing until our fingers bleed
riding bikes in the summer sun has given way to fears of failure
our personal metamorphosis
leaving behind what makes us the image we recognize in the mirror
where we get trained to step in line
keep our heads down
we used to touch each others hair and marvel at how they differ
now we covet the fine curls and admirations spoken from scornful lips
working everyday just to grow older
growing older just to work
grasping and green slips and praises
no one mourns for the person we leave behind as the years take their toll on us
we don't wear our black dresses and speak words of appreciation
we only speak congratulations and offer increasing expectations
I yearn for the time where a sticker for my performance satisfied
now I learned the world of hate and wish anyone cared anymore
the world taught me that the only sustenance I need is your admiration
thrown to me like bread to ducks floating on a polluted
oh the tricks I would do to receive just a piece
I am nothing more but skin and bone now held together by hopes
when I give my soul to the world what will they give me
words that tell me this is life
eyes that tell me you're an adult now you have no choice
shame that fuels my plight
and if i fall in the snow and laugh a little too loud
if i dance i little too free and cry too honestly
and finally feel a little bit okay again
I am admonished by your stares
so I pick myself up
and forget myself in this work
lost to the world

16.

Bird song and tears

a bird alights on the still black water
ever graceful so wonderfully ignorant
I wonder what that beauty costs
as I yearn to live like the bird
so easy is it for her to fly away
leave behind this stagnant lake
will she even remember this moment
and I wonder what that freedom costs
never having a true home
no safety
no one to ask her why she hasn't moved on yet
we don't sit and watch
with cold staring eyes and speak about where will she go next
all the other birds have left for warmer grounds
but she stays here reminiscent of who she lost
and we sit and watch and say how beautiful she is
I wonder what that beauty costs

17.

Spoiler

So a little back-story on this. This is a line spoken in my churches version of the stations of the cross readings. It's probably derived from an actual verse in the bible or somewhere but I don't know that. This line reads
"Her tears run down her cheeks" Which would be read out by the reader
and then the response in unison would be "and she has none to comfort her"
And this line really struck me last year reading this. so a full year later mere hours before another stations of the cross service I am writing a poem inspired by this line

Sorrow that will not be erased

Her tears run down her cheeks
but she has none to comfort her
she bares this sorrow alone
her tears the funeral shroud that embraces her
she has lost everything that defined her
but still now she raise her hands toward the sky
she proclaims to the watching crowd that condemned and spat hate
there is no sorrow like my sorrow
I have become bitter
this world has scorned me
worldly desires have left me
no one shall hold me
and equate this pain to the darkening sky
clouds that will pass
this is a tragedy
a broken clay pot fallen to the dust
pieces that shall never fit together
a rain that washes us clean
turned to clouds that never greet a summer sky
let my tears be a proclamation that cannot be wiped away
these tears shall fall
and the sun will rise tomorrow
it won't burn bright for me

18.
This lonely road

keep one foot firmly in front of the other
do not waiver
do not take the time to look at the sky
a perfect blue you'll only witness once
keep your eyes ahead
you'll see beauty up there
you'll see hope if you squint hard enough
Just don't look at the desolate place you are in now
insisting voices tell you that it only gets worse
try walking in their shoes
they have pebbles they refuse to toss out
I imagine the are reminders of when they were young
always keep walking
if you stray from the path you will not be welcomed back
and yet on this path we maintain or self isolation
no one will understand just how much our individual pebbles hurt
if you trip don't forget to bare it alone
and curse the branch that tripped you
and hate the people that didn't help you up
weren't you the once who decided to bare it alone
don't forget to leave no trace
take no memories with you
leave nothing behind
except yourself
the parts you loved
leave it all behind
and keep on walking forever