April 19, 2011

trying to wake up

Plucked out
From swampy peet
Taking deep breaths
Like a newborn
Smacked on the ass
So worldly and wise
I thought of me
So open and curious
I thought of me
But my foolish skin
Constricts muscles
In untidy messes
Feet stuck
In untimely murk
My rounded tongue
Wrap old words
In unfamiliarity
Syllabic gifts
To the humiliation
Of not living up to...
Or just not living
So stupid and repulsive
I think of me
So brilliant and creative
I think of me
Still trying to decide
I burn in my own bubble
Never noticing
The tremendous white moths
Fanning any passion's flames


Anonymous said...

Brings a smile of familiar experience. Love "Wrap old words In unfamiliarity Syllabic gifts To the humiliation, Of not living up to." Thsnk you!

Anonymous said...

It woke me up! Excellent write Heather..

Anonymous said...

Strong poem with great images

Brian Miller said...

excellent...love the second half all the more...great flow and imagery and you leave us with tight emo at the end...

Fireblossom said...

I like those tremendous white moths.

ayala said...

Nice imagery !

KidDenverPoet said...

Very nicely done. Extremely nicely done. Will read it some more. Great energy, fearless voice. Enjoyed!

- Henry Clemmons

Anonymous said...

This was a good read and an excellent write.

Jannie Funster said...

I was plucked from peat moss too. Wonderful fertilizer and helps retain the waters of poetic thought. Yes, brilliant AND creative this!!

Vinay said...

fabulous evoking imagery :) I liked the first half the most!

My Post Is Here

Anonymous said...

"I burn in my own bubble"

stunning! very evocative.

*hugs* dani

Anonymous said...

Silence is deep as Eternity, Speech is shallow as Time.