When I think of you, this beating heart
Swells, like an ocean wave flowing toward the shoreline,
Without you I feel a bit adrift,
A little sail-boat unmoored, alone on the ocean
I love you like the waves love the sand,
Even if I know I'm made for depths and great journeys --
You will be there with me in each gale,
Yet staying means I'll never get to where I'm going.
Another poem before the end of the night, a butterfly or mirror cinquain for Brian’s prompt on the theme of wasted time. Sleep is important, but when I’m really depressed, I don’t really like to do very much so sometimes want to sleep for hours during the day. I have not felt like this since 2 weeks or so ago. 😀
Wanting a time machine
Or a chance for starting over,
I wait —
Not to waste more time with closed eyes,
Today I’ve already
Napped enough, please
Even though Ronovan Writes no longer hosts a décima challenge, from time to time I still like to write in that form. Today I used “future” as my jumping-off point, and the MVB and FOWC one-word prompts helped to inspire the rest of the poem.
It turns out that this is only tangentially related to “future” — this is the future that doing all that stuff in high school was supposed to prepare me for and make better. For a long time, I’ve felt like I’ve wasted all of that, and what I hadn’t wasted all by myself was stolen from me. 😦 😦 😦 But maybe that wasn’t wasted. Lou’s comment on my sijo made me rethink, just a bit. I’d never actually thought, “Maybe it wasn’t wasted!”
I write all that as a way of saying, I didn’t have to force this somewhat-optimistic ending today.
My academic achievements Could not prepare me for real Difficulty, nor help to heal, For the pain of waste is intense.
Did that hard work have recompense? Not in the way one likely guessed But it was wise to do my best. A certain success foreshadowed, But forced down a different road, Worked hard to pass another test.
I liked calculus and was pretty good at it — but I always hated real-life change.
A reverse cherita, written while hiding in the restroom of a bookstore, so that the person involved would not see me cry (yet).
There are multiple reasons, but there's one
That makes me seem altruistic: I'll tell you
That you shouldn't need to deal with me.
I love you, but this has gone on for long
Enough now, I'm collecting my thoughts, writing goodbye
Gotta get back out there, pretend I wasn't crying.
Having been too busy yesterday to write much or to post anything, I want to write a lot today and maybe even post multiple times (this is your warning!). This poem was partially inspired by Brian’s prompt about “fleeting beauty” from last week. Also, it’s been hard because I’ve been eating a lot this week and ate a ton yesterday at my cousin’s wedding (how can you resist CAKE???). I hate to admit it, but the eating-disorder “voice” never really goes away…
One thing that I notice when I do eat more is, at Sunday Mass, I actually sing better, and my voice is stronger. 🙂 That makes me happy.
At least I could sing strongly. There’s a certain zest for life That’s missing when you won’t eat Wedding cake, or what Your body really needs.
There’s a certain beauty That doesn’t fade.
“At least” I could sing strongly? That’s everything.
I wrote a “Magic 9” poem, hence the title. This was written over the last 3 days and was partially inspired by Sadje’s WDYS challenge:
Life feels like a burden. Fervor cools,
Soon you don’t want to get out of bed.
All that you have learned in years of school’s
Useless against this strong enemy,
Making professionals look like fools.
The well of happiness is sucked dry,
Close to useless become all the tools.
Yes this nightmarish fiend wants you dead,
Back for a whole slew of tiring duels.
There are so many blog posts to catch up on reading, plus other books that I say I want to read, things that I allegedly want to do — but when it comes down to it, I am often too agitated, tearful, or would just prefer to go to bed. Clearly, I am going insane — but this happens every 4th week, so don’t worry. Or do, if you want, as I just get more and more over this ish every time.
The Internet helps me, but Crazy Jenna shouldn’t have an Internet connection, or else I bother people, and you get posts like this. Clearly not good.
If you have read this far, I shall reward you with a poem (“reward”). I wrote this sijo about the ducklings yesterday.
They hatched a little later this year, yet we get to see them: Ducklings swimming in the running water, gaining strength for flight, Ducklings staying close to Mama, not far from her wide wings.