by Poet on the Piano   Mar 6, 2013

The roads are drenched with too many wished
upon hearts, and my eyes resemble sewage from
cities that were cast away in all their fame-

I won't be able to be there.
I can't be who you want me to be,
for self-hatred comes in many forms
but you never even considered it was
a thinkable thought for me.

Would it be easier if I turned into a statue?
Hair frozen, unable to be provoked by the wind
or warmed by fragrances of spring.

Springtime is too far away.
This is snow you see outside, not rain...

yet I yearn for the remixed water
to cage me up in silver cascades few
will be able to rein in, and make you forget
I was here.

I held volume.

So don't fret love, for it's not below zero.
You will not be contorted into hardness and coldness
without reasons

I never had

Written March 6, 2012 at 6:50 pm.


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Latest Comments

  • 5 years ago

    by Dawn

    Ahhh! I love this poem, your beginning, word choice, ending, everything.

    Would it be easier if I turned into a statue?
    ^^^ This sent me reeling for a bit in my mind, as I've asked myself the very same question before, under different circumstances. The feeling of being frozen, or stuck outside in the cold, hit me very strongly; I like to BE in the poems I read, and this so took me there. :)

  • 5 years ago

    by Britt

    I wish I had the ability to nominate, I would this poem. I LOVE this. The ending of course is your powerhouse piece.. you have a beautiful knack for ending poetry and it makes me jealous :) I will try to be more specific, am at work now and can't be long! Just wanted you to know how much I adore this poem!