by Maple Tree   May 28, 2021

Water fills my lungs
while the lifeguard
flirts with pigtails and ponies,
grabbing me by the suit
as he blows them a kiss.

Blue carpet, saturated
within bloody aftershocks,
and I cower in the corner
like a 5 year old in overalls.

Bi-Polar, beaten and lost
tucked in a coma like snow white,
painful tears shed as I walked away
from everyone and everything.

"He whispered, save your soul"

so I moved to New York
finding the sun and the other
half of the moon.

One last cigarette
before saying goodbye
blacking out, tasting bricks
upon a swollen tongue, as
faces change at midnight.

Painting with words,
traumatic moments
within the life of a crow,
a raven and a woman
who continues to write.


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Latest Comments

  • 1 month ago

    by Jack

    Great poem! And I see you have changed your picture. I like this one more. :)

  • 2 months ago

    by Mr. Darcy

    Poetry is like painting with words. When i write using strict forms, it is like painting by numbers, but i decide which colour to add. As for the therapy and subsequent growth that we discover in our lives, this is a life long process. Looking back i did not realise that an activity or relationship could bring a unique perspective, but it does! I've just returned from a walk along the sea front with my brother and this is so much more than a chance to exercise the dogs, it allows us to debrief, reflect and connect. As for the traditional form of therapy, that too has its place, but as your poem sets out, therapy is for life. xx

  • 2 months ago

    by Star

    the fact that the woman shared this is inspiring by itself, I hope we keep reading her words :)

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