Every poem that begins,
Sounds like a eulogy
That I will have to give.
Forgive me.
I can’t paint you
Into a thousand words
Watercolors always bleed
One thought into another.
The mind doesn’t allow
The ignoring of obvious possibilities.
Imagination, a child’s play thing,
The child being my anxiety,
My mind the playground,
The ground is lava.
My hands are always slipping
Across the monkey bars.
Is this insanity?
Maybe if I will it hard enough,
Lily pads will appear beneath my toes,
Will I be strong enough to let go
And trust that everything won’t burn?
I’m pink with the rising heat
Someone has a basketball
Thump,
Thump,
Thump,
It vibrates though my body.
It is not me.
It is not me.
It can not be me.
Hanging above a deathlike pit,
Allows your mind to wander.
Imagine the tips of my fingers
As mini concrete cinder blocks,
Holding me in the air,
Like a circus trick.
I hold all my strength in my hands,
Out in the open for people to see,
If they wish to acknowledge it,
Strength can be intimidating.
Better to be left unsaid.
Better to fly across the monkey bars,
Show your flair and speed,
Those are qualities they want to see,
It is weakness to struggle.
Even if that struggle,
Means hanging everyday,
Over lava,
Thump, thump, thump,
Heart is always racing in your ears,
A reminder you are alive,
Keeping on the pressure,
With the rising heat,
That you must not let go.
Isn’t that strength?
Never letting go.
Even though it would be easier,
To get some long deserved relief.
So, my words can keep sounding,
Like a eulogy that I will have to give,
But I’ll use them as gloves,
To keep my self up in the air.
An Everyday Girl's Outlet 