Demon Dwellers

Demons live under my bed
Don’t you know?
They visit me in the night
 
They tickle my toes with their claws
Don’t you know?
And threaten to turn off the light
 
In the dark they took me home
Don’t you know?
I didn’t put up a fight
 
We torture and maim lost souls
Don’t you know?
And give them a proper fright
 
So keep your feet covered
Or don’t you know
They’ll be coming for you tonight
[Photo by Mohammad Metri on Unsplash]

Deadland (A Huitain Poem Attempt)

Lost in this wasteland of a mind.

It’s Earth burned, scarred, and dying.

Leaves are rusted streaks in rotted vines.

Ground now barren, plants left drying.

How to fix what is now horrifying?

Wish for rain, and till the pained land.

Turn ashes to life, so gratifying.

Surely prayers can save the damned.

Dig Deep, Fight Forward

Managed to be productive over the weekend. We finished the storage room (previously known as the small animal room), and are working on the linen closet now. I tidied the upstairs while Andrew slept, and he was pleasantly surprised.

However I failed myself already today. I swore last night I would wake up at 5 am, and I didn’t, I slept in. The late start has butchered my day. I had an hour round trip to make to get my one dog’s food (joys of feeding a prescription diet only available at a veterinarian clinic), and items to drop off at my parents, and brief grocery shopping to do, too.

This all meant I got home at 11 am, and my dogs got the latest breakfast ever. It means I had a very late start to a day I meant to be filled with energy and creativity. Instead I feel sapped of every ambition I ever had, and want to waste the rest of the day away.

I HATE feeling like that.

Forcing myself to sit at the computer is one thing. Actually writing something worthwhile is another. That’s the hardest pill for me to swallow at the moment.

The truth is I feel lost, and this blog post is simply a stream of consciousness.

I am unsure of what to post, and this fills the void in a rather lackluster way. I like the poems I write (some from imaginative places and some from the emotional truths of day to day life). I want to push past that which I’ve said before, but I’m stuck on how to do it.

Instead I post about knitting (I’ve started a baby cocoon now from soft rainbow/white yarn). I talk about baking with my mom, and other familial experiences. I have posted some artsy endeavours.

Why?

Because my life is random as hell and yet predictable, too.

The rut I’m in seems to be unending, and I look into my past to analyze all the other choices I could have made. I like to think I know where they would have taken me in life, but I don’t.

What I do know is, I need to find something that works, because I definitely love writing and want to do it for the rest of my life. The problem is, I struggle with my insecurities and the ‘normal’ life everyone around is living, the natural progression of their lives. The comparisons I constantly make about my life versus others is a waste of my (and your) time, too.

I need to find a way to work on my book, and shit getting done, too. Searching for distractions is slowing me down too much, and I’m tired of feeling like I’m failing day after day.

Good news though. Tomorrow is another day to make it happen. That doesn’t mean I don’t try and salvage what I can from what is left of today. It means I can pick myself up tomorrow and do what needs doing. It is in me after all.

Thanks for reading my rant, and maybe relating to elements of it. Any tips on what you do to overcome these moments are welcome.

She Only Wants A Mirror

She only wants a mirror.
To know who she is.
To know where she is going.

She’s lost.
She’s afraid,
And fighting feelings of hate.

She’s confused.
She’s weak,
And losing those she loves.

She’s hiding.
She’s searching,
And degrading what she finds.

She wonders,
About many things,
But dwells on how might feel to be whole.

She’s grabbing,
She’s grasping,
And holding on for straws.

Why can’t she find it?
Why can’t she believe what she finds?
Why is she weak?

She asks questions,
And hears only repetitions.
She needs to see, not hear.

She’s losing belief,
In what she has,
And it’s killing her inside.

She pretends,
She lies,
And she’s learning to die.

Her hands are empty,
Her knees are weak,
She’s not strong enough.

Fearful Blossom

Darkness crashes like waves

Upon a shrinking shore.

It covers the horizon

Blackens the sun

And blocks the stars.

The moon ran away

Leaving me alone again.

No light shines here.

Not in the land

of Perpetual Shadows.

I long ago abandoned

Sight

For it takes me nowhere.

Not on this pedestal of sand.

Against the rising tide

I wither away.

A fearful blossom

Claimed by the decay.

 

Ruins Lie Waiting For Us All

She dances in circles

An ivory dress hangs on her

Twirling about her legs

While she swirls.

The cobblestone is cold

Sleek on her bare feet

And she spins again

In the shadows of ruins.

Thunder sounds in the distance

A flash of white light

Illuminates her

Through the cracks.

Freezing in place

She looks to the heavens

A pale hand stretched above her

And the wind surrounds her fiercely.

Closing her eyes

She breaths softly

And waits

Waiting…

Rain falls from the darkness

A drop, a drip, a dribble

It crashes into her palm

And she tightens her hold.

Pulling it to her heart

A smile tugs at her lips

And she leaps toward the sky

Shown through a decimated home

Only to fall back to the earth.

The true dance begins

With the inner storm

She summoned into existence.

It pours

Light flashes

And still a smile remains on her rose coloured lips…