And I stand here naked in green-colored shoes, pondering the complexity of how I survived. This box of rage, where I comprehend your pain, programming useless non-essential words of the past. Over and over your story plays. Stop uttering words, speak sentences my god-driven mind told me once, resting in bed. There, wishing to hear God on audio. I never heard what you preached. Feeling grateful you do, feeling appreciated, loved? A mother on mother's day you thought you were. Having sex, a mistake, doesn't make you a mother. It makes you a whore. Day doesn't even need a capitalization. Just another day. Roses. Three roses, we gave. Didn't mean a thing to me. With leaves morbid underneath, aware of a desire to return to Earth. You'll just let them rot. And decay wrongside up. In a smoke-filled box; no room to breathe. Me, forced with guilt to enscribe, "I love you mom" on paper made by deathly-scented trees. Leaves no longer green. Try sobbing in a corner surrounded by a dirty, yellow picket fence. Forget the three surrounding. Pick up your trash. Litter with your cancer-filled lungs. Throw it all up. Let it mold in the dirt, consumed by single-celled organisms. Go scatter your flowers. Let them grow from filth. Now race in a downward slope fastly p.a.c.i.n.g to the ground. Like you do when you get dizzy. Nightly medication coupled with blurred vision, encompassed with cigarette addiction. Talk to God, don't utter to me. Then speak God damned sentences. Alicia Baldwin 5/16/06
I LOVE the disjoined feel of this. The flow is so sporadic but it fits. The title is really nice too. Some pretty good tid bits in this. Thanks for posting.
lol, Thanks you all! I appreciate the feedback. I never wrote a poem that was so...different. As different as this one. So, I felt unsure.
Very intense. Don't feel unsure thats when the best stuff comes out, just keep going. You're a good writer.
