The lies we tell ourselves are toxic. And by toxic, I mean lonely and reckless midnight pursuits. Carcinogens you mix into your everyday activities. Poison you've trained yourself to accept without a second guess. Sometimes, I wish the police would stalk and pull over my self-destructive mind and arrest me, chain me up so I would do no more harm. You say I'm not guilty, I say I'm nothing but. These regrets gag me until I'm praying on beads of hope to be saved. Yet I still cycle through the same bullshit. There is no one more at fault than me.
I return to them. All of them. The men. The name-less ones. The faces. The empty days. The endless tights, skirts, lip gloss, promises. The ones who don't matter because they see my figure but not my soul. I provide, they reciprocate. It's all a game.
And I'm choosing to be a pawn. Again.
I'm doing IT, again. Selling my soul and the protection of true love. Letting myself be thrown to the wolves. Starving off the good parts I used to cherish.
When will I believe I'm meant for more than this?
You say it's a choice. I'm not blaming anyone but me. You say "just say no". It's not that easy though. Don't you believe I never wanted to be like this when I grew up? I never wanted to need to numb myself that much.
They call me your average, everyday tramp. My actions, that are only shared between us, somehow define me to everyone else. And I never let anyone love me too much, because if they knew what happened in this sinful body, they'd never want to look at me again. Nevertheless see me as somehow worthy of much more than this.
Me - the girl who used to be stick thin. The sister who always smiled, always tried to keep the peace and fix the hurt. The one who never fooled around. The one who was called pure by so many.
We go back to the things we know. The things that ultimately destroyed us.... That keep tagging along, unwanted.
But we always return in some way, because we can't quite banish the past forever, and even though we learn from temptation there never seems to be an absence of it.
We seem to justify the unthinkable because our self-worth has already been shattered. Stolen not just once. But countless, countless, times...
Okay let's get the elephant out of the room, grab a banjo and smack it around the rear.
This is not a poem in the poetical sense.
In fact it is a diary entry, a piece of prose.
It could pass for a slam poem with a little bit of editing, yet it risks losing some of the fuel if messed about with. I have been harsh some weeks, yet I am actually bored tonight. Form after form after another form...
I wanted something different yet I have been presented the same gifts just re-wrapped and re-worded.
A circle of nominations that is turning the weekly into a closed shop.
I was tempted to step down as a judge tonight. Purely because I am not sure whether or not I am truly impartial in my choices. Not that I am picking the same people...more I am avoiding to try and help the weekly have more variety of winners.
Now to this piece, I have given it 10 points because of the bravery of the author, I feel that she has given us all an insight into her mind and her feelings. She has shared with us some pain. Poetry should strike a chord, simply put this has.
It is also as far from a form that you could find. 10 points
I've read this twice now and I keep thinking about the woman at the well.. I don't really know how else to apply your message to hers, but you know the story, so I'm sure you can see my correlation.
You may not let other people into all those creepy, dark, cob-webbed spaces of your heart, but there is only one person who can truly transform that brokenness. Release these pieces of your heart to Him, sweet MaryAnne. <3
I relate to this so much more than you know. Always here if you need someone to relate to. <3
There was something very drawing about how you used point of view in this writing.You began the poem with "we", asking me to recall where and when I have found myself in this situation you are painting, a universal and personal human experience. Then you move a step closer into your own world in this mixed monologue that responds to your own thoughts and to words of others. Then, after baring our soul of your personal experience, you bring it back to the "we" again, tying your experience with mine, because you are writing of things we all do.
Sorry, that was wordy. What I mean to say is that, through your use of perspective in this writing, you told your story as a piece of a bigger story and pattern where you call me to put myself in the place where I fit.