In some Secret part of Her #FreeVerse #gender

In some Secret part of Her

I felt a pang of loneliness when
I watched the lives of others
I could not place the appalling self-consciousness
I felt, surely horrible and common?

The inner words we dare to utter at ourselves
Cramped in the dark for so long
God, but if life is loneliness
Then every act is one of saving ourselves

We get married for companionship
And have children to grow old together
We volunteer our time to help society
Yet does the neurotic element

Ever truly wane, wanting mutually exclusive things
And not having them, we make do
For the rest of our days, this
Is the great compromise, feeling misunderstood

We learn to not take anything for granted
As if the present is our forever
And forever is always shifting, flowing, melting
And as a woman, we are required to serve

While men can escape social roles by rebellion
Or male privilege, or utter irresponsibility
As women we were required to give life
Until we forget who we were without them.

Posthumous #quotes #artist #art

Posthumous

Everything in our lives is writeable
But did we script in free-will?
Without recognizing consequences
I talk to God but the sky is empty
I followed philosophers who were out-dated

My lovers do not know how to
Protect me, from my worst enemy
Who is the breaking of idealism
The broken wheel of pragmatism
And cynicism of aging in the school

Of real-world hard knocks
Can you understand? That we loved
Our tragedies as poor substitutes to living?
That we needed deeper lows to
Experience and appreciate higher highs

What is an artist, they are who
Most desire the things that will destroy
Them in the end, like a fanaticism to beauty.

Notes from under the Bell Jar #NaPoWriMo #poetry

Why Can’t I try on Different Lives

Poetry, can you teach me how
To live richly in the present
I don’t want to regret the past
Lovers that scarred me

Or be timid about my future
My time that only comes once
I am so hungry, I can’t let it rest
For a shinning creative burgeoning

Burdened love that weighs me down
Like a project in lightness
I want to write forever, at my own pace
For creativity is the most tragic thing

That most people live dull and routine lives
While others must tread alone
The ambiguity of their becoming
In a treacherous freedom and poverty

Simply to do what they most love
In this world, to articulate endearingly
An inner work that likes to dress up.

The Purple Fat Feelings

The Purple Fat Feelings

I can never read all the books I want
Never love all the people I’d prefer
Hoping to live and feel
All the cursive of the human palette
I was left feeling horribly limited

I learned not to expect
Nothing from anybody
As the surest means of being surprised

I wanted to be startled by life
And found everything in life was scripted
The outgoing guts and
The ability to improvise
With a touch of self-doubt

I took deep breaths and bragged
Inside my own heart
For taking-in kisses left me feeling

Self-important and in love with everything
That was the Spring’s ingredient
The stars still go waltzing in blue and red

And if all the world dropped dead
I fancy love would still exist
On stars, for sale, for youthful fancy
Perhaps if we ever find ourselves
At peace, it will be because

We are dangerously close to wanting nothing
For now in my own prayer-silence
I’ll dream of books, love and fat purple feelings.

The Worthiness to Die

I know loneliness one dare
Not sound, so grave that friends depart
The alarm that leads to inner scrutiny
And horrors not be surveyed

The gloom of youth with no resolve
Skirted in the dark, under lock
Of our brief taste of tragedy
That does not depart so easily

I fear that loneliness is one of my
Prime emotions, that illuminates
My caverns and corridors
But am I alone in this?

I do not know, I suffer
As best I can, with brief wisdom
And hampered forgiveness
For cowardice or weakness I am not sure

And friends too few, and charity
Only given, and lovers
That leave before they truly know
I know loneliness one day

Not watched, that poverty expounds
The hardship of living a minority
Without but a wave of gold
I know loneliness like a jewel

With so much weight, and worthiness
And a strange hunger to die
Before one truly knows how to live.

Featured Artist:

AGNES CECILE
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A Drop of Blood Like Shadows

My shadows have remained
Behind there, like a midnight guest
That doesn’t know when to leave
But the truth of the matter

Will surface, in sleep
The frosted sacrifices for art
Will suffice, the choice to be free
How the house is altogether preoccupied

Dust to dust, something called love
In the world, perhaps it’s not for me
Into a sterner living I must surrender
Why? Because life’s calculation found me wanting

There is no mercy in these stark designs
Of fate, no morning ray that sweet
Uncouth are the women who left me
Just as with my mouth I used to travel

Down their spines, their hips, their hands
Like a quiet shawl of tremulous abandon
I must warm myself with paler dreams
The dread of separation still in my gut

Heavy as a lost gleam of a lake of swans
There is nothing to forgive, nakedness is ruthless
My shadows have remained
I only sow the reaping done, a late comer

To reality, and ecstasy and maturity
I arrive at incredible vexation
A rage to break the barriers of sheltered patterns
Afloat in me like ice in foaming wine.

I Laid my Boyhood’s Head On The Pillow made for One

With careful fragments I’ve built
A shredded identity, pillaged by hope
Ransacked by heart-break

I’ve customized my grief
To the rapture of my outlaw-state
In glowing morning I feared

Being left, and prophesized abandonment
In which my very atoms
In the cosmic mirror, were scattered

I couldn’t help martyrhood
Like the shell of my grandmother in me
How we give our power away

And how those authorities contrive
To judge our worth, in quick months
Of evolutionary design, bitter comments

That I remember to this day
About the kind of man I am
With careful foolishness I betrayed

The self, that wanted to join in marriages the most
A wild execution of the simplicity
That marked me from my childhood

Of having been raised in poverty
Boycotted from those simple joys
I am a frenzied bargain of dreaming cheeks
Without the spice of wonderful confidence.