Enthusiasm for arrivals,
togetherness brings emissions of hope,
but soon, I can’t bring air inside,
can’t escape my intolerance.
Things mentioned deflate dangerously.
Metal grates for carving
blow through my heart.
Nothing is there to be harmed.
Claustrophobic Mind, Depression, Family, Love, Poems, Poetry, Resistance
This entry was posted on May 19, 2011, 11:11 am and is filed under Poems. You can follow any responses to this entry through RSS 2.0. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.
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#1 by liv2write2day on May 19, 2011 - 11:55 am
I understand your message. It’s a hard balance between togetherness and have space.
#2 by Carl on May 20, 2011 - 6:49 pm
Thank you for reading and commenting, Victoria.
#3 by Kay Camden on May 19, 2011 - 9:43 pm
This is very easy to relate to. Visitors call to say they’re coming. How exciting! You crank up the industrial/ebm and clean the house while singing along. Get out the soda and wine. Chips. Dip. Finger foods.
Then the doorbell rings. Enter formality. Enter insecurity. Enter second guessing everything – the music, the food, your cleaning, every tiny word you say. You wonder why you wanted visitors at all. You wish they’d leave so you could read.
They leave. You’re lonely. You’re bored. You go to bed.
Sorry to be a such a comment whore, but this one really hits home.
#4 by Carl on May 20, 2011 - 6:51 pm
This is perfect, Kay! You know!
#5 by Kay Camden on May 20, 2011 - 9:46 pm
So what’s wrong with us? lol
#6 by Carl on May 20, 2011 - 10:51 pm
We need different visitors?
#7 by Kay Camden on May 23, 2011 - 11:45 am
Yes. You’re right. It’s all them. Not me, not me at all. 🙂
#8 by Carl on May 23, 2011 - 10:17 pm
🙂