Poetry Thursday: Liar, Liar, Tights on Fire
Tis actually Sunday, November 19th. I missed Poetry Thursday due to noveling, isolation, and depression in general.
The prompt o' the week was to lie through poetry. Pick a few objects, and tell anything but the truth.
I wrote this a few days ago by hand:
Ten
Boys don't cry
Pictures never lie
God is dead
Death is the end
Life is what you make it
Birth is painless
Writing can be taught
Blogging doesn't hurt
Love is all you need
Sex can be meaningless
Okay, so it's not an actual poem, just a list. I’m busy writing. Tired. Lonely.
I feel invisible. Posting in a mere attempt to keep my foot in the door, lest it slam shut, and lock me out in the cold.
I’m so sorry I can’t be better to you.
I’m worn out, and hardly good to myself.
My heart hurts so bad for the lack of something. For the fear of a drunken December. An unfinished novel. A lost contest. Getting lost in the process.
I feel so out of balance. Overworked. Overwriting.
Selfish and guilty for all the promises I mean with all my heart, but never keep. An accidental liar.
It’s just so quiet.
I hope all is well in your life.
Mine’s a mess...
Since we're being honest. ;)
4 comments:
Great picture -- what shoes, what feet, love the color, the lighting.
As for the post, there's still time for a mad dash to the finish line, with the words remaining.
Sorry you're so down. Just glad you're back.
Read like a poem to me :-)
I'm a mess, pretty much, I think throwing yourself into words so heavily tends to distort reality and any sense of self. Blame nano, or salute, I don't know. Maybe this version is the real one?
mess?
yes.
sending love?
for you?
certainly.
x x x x x
Ashley,
Be good to yourself and just know that you mean so much to those of us who know you....you're never alone, really.
Thinking of you. Right now at this moment, and many others....
Brian
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