Tuesday, September 27, 2016

Why, Why, Why

I'm not a poet.

This is raw emotion in jacked up poetry form.

I call it Why, Why, Why

Why, Why, Why

Why? Why? Why? I shout.

What have you done?

What have I become?

You’ve taken a piece of me I may never get back.


I feel it. I feel my love slipping away.

A heartbeat fading,

Pulsing slower and slower until there’s nothing at all, but no,

No! I won’t let that happen.


I’ll stay strong.

I’ll move on.




No, I won’t

I’ll stay

I’ll stay and endure.

 I’ll make the best of it.


I’ll be a part of it.

It’s a part of me after all.

Maybe I caused it.

I may be the reason it all occurred.


Was it my lack of beauty, of prowess, wisdom or charm?

 Was I not listening to the screams did they not send an alarm?

To my brain.

It wasn’t listening .


The cries of help,


Why? Why? Why?

My own shouts were louder, blocking out any other cry.


It was only me.

My pain.

My suffering.

 I couldn’t hear anyone else.


Nothing else mattered but my pain.

How could you do this?

Do this to me!

I’ve done nothing wrong…but have I?


No, I’m the innocent.


The one who has been wronged.

For my shouts are louder. .

My pain is stronger,

Deeper than you will ever know.


But how could you know?

You can’t hear my shouts.

We’ve yet to let it all out.


My shouts are internal as are yours.

We plague ourselves with our own pain.

Dragging along our skeletons as a heavy burden to carry on our own.


Why? Why? Why?

 Why do we do this to ourselves?

Is it pride, embarrassment, shame, cowardice?

Maybe possibly it is.


It is all of those things.


Shouldn’t there be trust between us?

These emotions should flow free.

Why can’t I trust you?

Why can’t you trust me?


I don’t know.

I just don’t know.


Let your shouts out I beg!

Please let them out!

For I am dying to hear those drowned out shouts.


My shouts are still too loud.

I may need a fix.

To cancel out the sound and let something else in.


Wait! What is that?

A noise I do hear.

This sound that I hear is all torture and fear.


This can’t be.

My own pain is worse.

I can’t let it in.

My mind may combust.


There is too much upstairs.

No room for your fears.

My own screams creep back.

Licking up like rising flames.


There you are old friend.

I thought you went away,

But you are with me each and every day.


This is me now.

A fraction of my old self.

Of what I’ve become.


The rest has drifted away,

Tucked somewhere deep inside

Where all good things go to die.

Where I take my emotions and let them hide.


For I have job to do,

All my shouts have dwindled.


There is nothing left.


I’m a robot.


I carry on.


I feel nothing.

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