Tag Archives: prose poetry

Denied Access

I

A closed off world, no longer reachable by me. My brain, not wrapping around the intricate non-geometry–such an abstract plane. This same world used to play right into my hands, dancing on the fingertips of my misery, the fingertips unique to each different mystery. Now the mysteries go unsolved as the pen stops and so do my thoughts.

II

The locks won’t stop me from checking though. I’ll go down every alley until I can access that universe again–the one I used to get lost in, loved in, felt safe in. The one that accepted me when my family couldn’t, the one that filled the void when my own universe broke. I know it’s hidden away somewhere, I still have the key–I just can’t find the right lock.

III

The universe, the universe. Abundant indeed, always came to me in my time of need. I drowned in it without dying, frowned in it without crying, and was allowed to do what I want without my limits always lying. I want ┬áto go back, if only it’d let me. Where is it now–why does my memory escape me?

IV

I think I’ve found it–there was just a small piece missing. It turns out that every door was unlocked, I just didn’t have the strength to knock. I knocked them down and threw away the key–a very useless thing, trivial to me. Only strength of emotion can get me in–a happiness, sadness, anger, or frustration. I’ve made my own kind of key and will use it well, though honestly, only time will tell.

I’d rather it not end

The end is just the beginning.

We try our best to dream, twisting our necks around towards the sound of clapping hands, sparks flying from their lagging souls. Sparking laughter and admiration, blurry faces in the crowd, they blur out the sound of the ending that blends into the opening. Act on your wishes and don’t let them be drowned out by the beat of another’s heart, screaming at your eyes for wandering much too far. There’s no denying who you are. They can’t deny you from afar.

We explore new territory even when they blot out our eyes, feel our way through because they can’t blot out our mind, blot out our drive. Touch the surface of the desk, the cup that holds our fantasies, the soft blankets of our safe nest, the one they can’t take away from us. We smile because who else could tell us what to feel now? I mean, we’re not tied down.

So then let the story begin and don’t fear when it ends
because the end is the beginning of the beginning to a new end.

Withering

Strong walls regardless of strength can be torn down brick by brick picked apart until that strong wall falls to the ground Red core and burning ferocity simmer down last flames smothered out Stronger elements wearing it down until its physical strength mental fervor die out extinguished without a sound None can hear its struggle as it crumbles to the ground stomped on battered beaten until it is ground like a limp carcass heaving its last breaths left out of the sun never to be found Strong walls with thick tears can rebuild themselves takes time Time it does not have in the breaths between one night and the next when the darkness takes over Time and it can no longer breathe It will only have night when rough brick by rough brick its hardened skin disintegrates leaving nothing but softened sand those pieces of itself that slip through the crevices of our minds grains of its essence sliding in and out of our consciousness unable to be grasped for more than

one single breath.

Her Eyes

Blink once,

Blink twice.

Her eyes are the horizon when the sun rises, eyelashes scattered around in nonpatterns, eyelids the sky. Her irises the deep, vast ocean, with species of dreams swimming underneath, flying overhead.

The waves undulate as she laughs, the air foggy when she sighs, the sky raining when she’s sad. Such depth in her eyes.

Blink once,

Blink twice.

No matter how many times I blink, I can still see her eyes in my mind, in the sky, in the sun, in the sea. Where can I look so that they won’t haunt me?

Daydream

A monarch butterfly. A daydream.

Flutters around the edges of our consciousness, skimming the flowers about to bloom, hardly noticeable then all consuming. Our eyes glazing over, a subtle smile touching our lips. The original objective at hand forever lost in our minds, left to wander the twisting nerves alone. A monarch takes the place of the abdicated thought-that-must-not-be-so-important-after-all.

Vignetting our reality, morphing our perception and taking us to where we’d rather be, carrying us on its fragile wings. It lets us see what we want to see before it dies, thin glass wings shattered by the sheer weight of our burdens. In the fragments of the broken pieces, we see our desires but also ourselves. Our faces twisted by want-but-cannot-have, yet convinced that the shape of the cracked glass, the bent light, is what is making us ugly.

As we fall from our high, our butterfly in the sky, we are taken away from the promise land, that was never promised in the first place. We went in knowing it was a temporary release, relaxing for only a fraction of time, to be taken away at the clock’s next chime. But the temporary paradise that fogs up our eyes gives us a rush that can be duplicated in no other way than getting what we dreamed of.

Unfortunately, we cannot get what we dreamed of by dreaming on false butterflies.

Go

Determined but caged inside the house is my soul. It’s trying so hard to break free and fly away but being brutally shot down by a sniper’s rifle every time. As terrifying as the unknown is, it is certainly less terrifying than the present, the horrible today. This is what I think everyday but do not say. This is what I pray to be rid of but this array of struggle after struggle is getting hard to deal with.

We are not whole, not us, no. We are not like him, her, a complete circle. We are broken and twisted, halved and split into two, into more than just us–into what they want. We are mercilessly beaten with an invisible baton, one of words, of emotions and taunting.

We are hated and taught to hate. We hate and teach to hate. The vicious cycle and circle (which, sadly, is more complete than us) continues on and on, drawn long and slow and endless and inevitably always going back to the starting point. Over and over…

I feel incredibly poetically free tonight. This is ironic because what caused this freedom of imagination and wording was being caged. Limited. Restricted. Confined. And back to the beginning, shot down. I guess something good can always come of something bad. In turn, something horrible can also come of something great.

Today started as a great day. I felt like I had true importance. I felt like a leader. I felt this way and was radiating this feeling and then I walked peacefully into the cage. What a mistake. As I walked in, whistling my happy tune, thinking all was well, I got caught like a deer in headlights. I was off-guard and I shouldn’t have been. We could just say this was all my fault as usual. It always is, isn’t it?

We can complain all we want in our human tongues spewing what we pass off as intelligence but in the end, these are just complaints. What we need to do is, well, do. Turn our words into actions and do something about our situation. We need to stay determined through it all and look on the bright side, penny-pinching the light until there really is no more. The thing is, there is never no more. Anyone can do anything, get through everything once their mind is set. The first step, though, is just that: getting set. And then we go.