Poetry of the Mind

I don’t dabble in poetry very often. It’s one of those things I played with more in my youth. But now and then I feel motivated to switch from prose to verse. And I decided to take a break from the usual essays to share some of my recent creations with you.

The Third Step Forward

Two steps.

A crumbling edge into a sea of madness;
the infinite darkness that beckons and pulls
and demands the weight of existence.

A whisper sent skittering into space.

The culmination of trickling failures;
Endless mistakes piling and collapsing
atop one another in an overwhelming monolith to LESS THAN.

Never enough.

A distant reflection distorts the churning waves;
the disrupted ugliness of beauty gone wrong
in the haze of a thousand Fun House mirrors.

One step.

Contemplation of a world of wrong.
The magnifying glass held upright and large
upon the ills of the perceived and diseased mind.

Does anyone see a toe edging forward?

A siren’s call:
the false promise of pain soothed and balmed;
the unremitting agony of physical torment—a verbal scream supplanting the mental whimper.

Two steps.

Swaying indecision within an embattled mind.
The constant tug of war between the gasping lungs of air
and the tortured brain synapses;
the battle for supremacy and control of a single sinew of toe.

Eyes close in broken indecision.

If the foot moves back, will the shouting cease?
Demands and critiques swell into a roar.
Will peace and silence be found in that final step forward?

One step.

The Girl in the Mirror

I hate the girl in the mirror.

She’s a lovely creature—I can’t fault her beauty;
yet I hate her all the same.
She’s painful to gaze upon.
Everyone admonishes me to accept her
embrace her;
They look upon the cold silver, enchanted by her sweet expression;
They’re enchanted by a frozen image in glass.

I see her.

She looks through me, knows every thought before I form it.
I hear her derisive laughter in the back of my mind;
the cards of my memories tight in her hand.
Her shadow wraps me every moment
of the day;
I can’t escape her presence.

I hate her.

She knows the depths of my weakness.
She calls to mind every mistake I’ve made;
sings a tune composed of my failures.
Her voice is a constant companion in my ear
reminding me of my
true worth;
I am stripped naked before her.

I fear her.

But I also love her.
She is a formidable monster;
we’re a constant reflection of one another.
The light and the darkness.
I hate the girl in the mirror; I love her.

I wish, more than anything, I was her.

The Invited Shadow

Come and sit with me, my darker shade of darkness;
bide your time until the waking hour.
Let us exchange our stories of the day
and I will fatten you on failure, loss, and ennui.

Witness, here, the scar of misread direction,
forever embedded in the tender flesh of my palm.
And, here, the invisible lashes of casual cruelty
inflicted by the seemingly harmless candor of friendship.

Wrap me in your clinging icy tendrils,
a balm of cold to numb the lingering ache from my body.
Listen and catalog my day’s mistakes
in your capacious memory, lest I attempt to forget.

I will recite my blundered words and forgotten sentences.
Each humiliation etched across the impressionable synapses of my thoughts.
The inadvertent speaking out of turn
has flushed a permanent crimson in my cheeks.

Press your weight into my shoulders,
an ever-present reminder of the shame I carry.
Capture my tears in your hands and
wring them into foggy storm clouds.

See the evidence of my shortcomings in these broken dreams;
the collected pieces covered in the dust of loss.
Frown at the wasted moments of the day,
Tumbled aside in favor of attempting to gain a brighter perspective.

Take from me the lingering ache within my heart.
Purge this sense of inadequacy.
Carry it with you to your lurking place within the corners of my mind,
and send me forth barren and empty with the rising sun.

That I might attempt to fail anew
and meet you once again tomorrow.