Amy on writing

Nevermind

Drag me swathed in never mind.

I do not feel. I cannot feel.

Press me hard against the glass.

I do not break. I do bend.

Rattle my cage, feed the animal.

Pet me nice. I’m a good girl.

To and fro, stretch me thin.

I am gossamer whisps of never mind.

Been a minute since my last vent poetry sesh. Feels good every time.

Happy weekend everyone!

Cheers, Amy

Amy on writing

Nothing

 

I spin my webs and draw them in, a gift they cannot see. They wear the cobwebs like nebulous bonnets of silken fluff and air.

 

My hands are a pyramid and my fingers tap, like a menacing villain without a face. Everyone knows but no one sees. I have a taste for it now.

 

Ignore the feeling, it’s just the wind that raises hairs upon your neck. For I am soft-spoken and golden crowned. Harmless, vapid thing.

 

Drink my water squeezed from stones and rest your weary head. Your brilliant mind is just too full and you are too very kind.

 

I did nothing at all.

 

In my previous post: What It Isn’t , I discuss constructive criticism and how important it is in many fields, particularly in creative fields. This poem was inspired by the people best known for giving destructive crits. You know the type… The one always taking credit for others good work, the one issuing blame and never taking responsibility…

You are better than that. Relish in it.

Cheers, Amy

 

Amy on writing

Enemy Mine

 

I close my eyes to reclaim my peace. But in the darkness I come at you swinging with the force of a thousand wrongs.

 

Always swinging, never connecting.

 

I bat at you with kitten paws but you never even flinch. I kick and scream at your impenetrable walls, but you’re a fortress. I am lost.

 

I break the glass with banshee cries and chew the shards to sand. I taste the blood and spit it out, a bitter pool for your reflection.

 

I hope you drown.

 

I grab your hair and lick your face to mark you as my own. You belong to me I say when I Holyfield your ear.

 

And when I think I’ve won again, again you slip away. The light of day has won this one. It always is the same.

 

Enemy of my enemy, enemy mine.

 

In my angsty, community raised, couch surfing, teen years I wrote a lot of poetry. In lieu of a heart dotted i diary, I would sit with my Mazzy Star, The Doors or Alice In Chains and write all the wrongs of my little world. When I was done, I would smile and frolic off on my merry California way, refreshed and ready to do what teenagers do.

 

I miss that feeling of renewal.

 

I love poetry, and have mentioned how cathartic I find it. However, I seldom write it just for me anymore let alone share it. Especially since I get to read wonderful poetry everyday here on WP. But lately, in my self possessed, collected adulthood, my old outlet found me in a time of need.

 

So in honor of candor and stress relief I decided to share.😅😳

 

Cheers, Amy

 

Self portrait in sepia pencils on canvas by me.