Poetry

I am in an interview and everyone wants to know

why? why write? why omit? why publish?

why self-publish? why do anything at all?

I am at a wedding and everyone wants to know

what my book is about,

how about you buy it and read it

my sarcasm

getting the better of me.

I am at retirement party and everyone tells me

I saw you on TV. How’s the little girl?

You’re a hero.

I roll my eyes,

grateful to have survived at all. Drink up.

I wouldn’t be here if time held me hostage.

I am at a staff meeting

and everyone wants to know

how did I save that boy in 1999 with an EpiPen shot.

I am at the movie theater

I tell my daughter,

hide me from my ex-boyfriend.

I am at Starbucks flirting with a twenty-year old

I could be mid-thirties

so I nod my head, quick smile.

I am at the red light,

crying.

I wonder why being alive

has to hurt so much.

I wonder why I liked you in the first place

when I cannot stand you now.

And no, it is not a song lyric,

it is my poem.

 

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11 thoughts on “Poetry

  1. Where is it written in the stars that a poet must not experience pain? Fuck that old untruth that in order to have happiness there must also be sadness. My pain is pleasure. It makes me alive. Let all the other salmon swim upstream; I choose the vast ocean.

    Liked by 2 people

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