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Literature Text
There are days I do not want to get up,
Days I cannot face what was once tomorrow,
What will soon be yesterday.
Days I cannot face the smile of a friend,
The laughter of a child,
Or the touch of those I love.
The words "Give up"
Careen through my confused mind
Like a cannon shot in a closed room.
Careening leads to questions,
Why? Why am I here?
Who am I? What am I?
What am I supposed to do? Where am I supposed to go?
Is there a purpose? Do I have a purpose?
Is this life worth living?
But questions do not lead to answers.
There are no answers,
Only hope,
And faith.
But what happens when hope and faith are gone?
What happens when hope and faith are missing in action
During the war that is adolescence?
"Plane down!"
There goes hope
Give up.
"Man down!"
There goes faith
Give up.
There is nothing left.
Just,
Give up
And let my mind
Tire
And let my life
Expire.
There is nothing left.
Just the constant weight of gravity pushing on my shoulders.
Pushing me down,
Into
The ground.
Give up.
Give up.
Give up.
Give up.
Give up.
So I open my bloodshot eyes,
Breathe in through air starved lungs,
Get out of bed on shaking legs,
Square shoulders drooping from gravities pressure,
Smile on cracked and bleeding lips,
And walk out of my dark room,
Ready to face the new day.
Days I cannot face what was once tomorrow,
What will soon be yesterday.
Days I cannot face the smile of a friend,
The laughter of a child,
Or the touch of those I love.
The words "Give up"
Careen through my confused mind
Like a cannon shot in a closed room.
Careening leads to questions,
Why? Why am I here?
Who am I? What am I?
What am I supposed to do? Where am I supposed to go?
Is there a purpose? Do I have a purpose?
Is this life worth living?
But questions do not lead to answers.
There are no answers,
Only hope,
And faith.
But what happens when hope and faith are gone?
What happens when hope and faith are missing in action
During the war that is adolescence?
"Plane down!"
There goes hope
Give up.
"Man down!"
There goes faith
Give up.
There is nothing left.
Just,
Give up
And let my mind
Tire
And let my life
Expire.
There is nothing left.
Just the constant weight of gravity pushing on my shoulders.
Pushing me down,
Into
The ground.
Give up.
Give up.
Give up.
Give up.
Give up.
So I open my bloodshot eyes,
Breathe in through air starved lungs,
Get out of bed on shaking legs,
Square shoulders drooping from gravities pressure,
Smile on cracked and bleeding lips,
And walk out of my dark room,
Ready to face the new day.
Literature
Accept your Candle, Weep for the Stars
A light I see, far off in the distance. It's a star, I told myself.
No other thought surpassed it, I want to reach it.
I struggle in the darkness, slowly heading for it, not knowing, not thinking.
I know this is what I want. I want the star.
It gets brighter, I can feel its warm touch, though I'm far from it.
Joy overwhelms my soul, I'm so close, so close to
my star. It's my star and nothing else matters.
I reach with my fingers, to touch it.
A candle. A lowly candle, my thoughts shattered.
This is not what I wanted. It's not my star.
I blink, and blink again, I see clearly. Up above.
There are hundreds, no millions of stars.
Why
Literature
Divorce
Before that day,
Sunday mornings had never occurred to me.
I must have slept through their every summons:
I never knew the time sensitive ritual of finding matching socks,
forcing “nice” shoes over misshapen toes,
the silent pact we would share with the warm cushions of the divan
waiting for Mother to ready us, memories that settle in the guts
like a madstone, which I could then pull out of my old cadaver
to save myself in the next life.
There were a few moments. Like that time, in the garage,
basking in Father’s sunrise sorcery as he fired his magic timing light
into the fluttering lungs of an engine, or when he let
Literature
Sundiver
i.
When I was six a phoenix
tried to drown me.
Underwater I grabbed for fire.
Like Icarus, I was reaching
towards the sun.
I hope he still has
bald spots. I hope he still
cradles searing scars.
He was death,
I was the bird.
ii.
My uncle knows plastic-
wrapped soaps as well
as he knows fine wines.
If he drinks enough,
he thinks it’s love-
carved names rubbing
the silver drain smooth. Diver: 28 days
sweating, ship black against
sea. Like it had been peeled
from amber tongues.
iii.
On my fifteenth birthday, the boy
with stars on his fists and Saturn’s
rings in his eyes told me I was pretty.
It was the first time
anyone had
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This was written for poetry challange prompt #93: Give Up, as I'm sure you all can tell Unfortunately, DA wouldn't allow me to add all of the artistic form that I had it in originally, so the block form it is in now will have to do
© 2010 - 2024 nngross
Comments12
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I really appreciate how you manage to put into words the dark and rough emotions that so many experience. It's a thrill.