Poetry 12-09-2021

What Am I Made Of

The ghosts of hearts unfairly broken 
haunt me relentlessly
my own among their wreckage
and the ones still alive 
they kick down, through the floorboards of my brain
and reverberate
in the pit of my stomach

Ghosts of lovers
who loved me too much
those I rolled eyes at, 
and turned away from, 
to crawl for miles on bloodied knees
and claw at the departing feet
of those who did not love me enough.

Ghosts of the friends I picked apart
like the vulture's beak to carrion
and become angry when they
no longer fed me

Ghosts of friends who disappeared
into the ether of life
and forgot they were 
my solid ground

I think I'm made up of ghosts 
all vapor and energy
nothingness roaming
empty of touch
devoid of breath
but heavy,
oh so heavy
in soul.

VerseDay 9-19-19

Happy Epic Palindrome Day!

Funny-Celebration-With-Cat

 

Ok, that’s not really a thing. I just…

*sigh* I’m a little off from all of the serious and ADULT-like writing I’ve been doing lately.

I’m overcompensating with frivolity. It happens.

Here’s your Verse, you ungrateful math-hater (oh and by the way, it’s quirky too).

 

Ghost Writer

While you were asleep, I borrowed your pen and scratched ink over that dreadful book you’re writing.

Just a reminder that this was once my house, before you banged open the door and disturbed my rest.

Before you halted my slumber with your key-clacking and plastered that fluorescent post-it monstrosity over my Schumacher wallpaper.

Of all the idiots to suffer, why’d it have to be a writer now at my desk?

What editorial mistake did I make in life to land you here?

I fixed your opening line.