Blank

I despise poetry
because it never lets me say accurately
the depths of loneliness,
the absence of the part of you that has moved away
or has yet to come.
It can’t, wont allow me to convey
the way I feel misunderstood, and judged, and disgusted
with myself
and confused.
The only emotion it allows to escape
from this bottle about to explode
is
FrustRATION
accompanied by long

expanses of

silence,

sitting in numbness,
staring into the distance . . .

I despise poetry
because it is a friend that proposes some way of escape
only to betray me,
making me feel my chains ever tighter
and disdain my own pit of self pity.

I don’t want to be here
anymore.

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One thought on “Blank

  1. A recent acquaintance has renewed in me a love for words and poetry- through his talent I have been inspired, uplifted, and challenged. The poem I have written here is by no means reference to anyone’s work but my own. (10/23/09)

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