At night my mind is overrun
With the echoes of thoughts I cannot fathom into spoken words
So I'll sit back and rehearse
The things I would say
If someone asked me
Who I am someday
Because tonight I feel little more
Than the stack of scribbled on papers
Littered with phrases that popped into my mind
I'm little more than the guitar I take from my sister
The most I've done
Is gathered the past into themes and melodies
But none of them can do justice to the memories
None of them can copy the sound of words
Cut into flesh
None of my words can belt out the things he screamed at me
And I feel pathetic
Because I tell people to move past the things
That wear them down
Yet here I sit
Using my own self-pity
To present myself
As someone who is passionate and whole
But I am still broken
Do not let my false facade set a barricade
Between you and me
I only use this wallowing pit of retching anxiety
From past accounts I recall in the early mornings
To remind myself to keep going
And maybe words typed into a luminescent phone screen don't matter tonight
But the light is here in my dark bedroom
And it's the only thing besides the street light outside
That keeps the balance
And the monsters at bay
YOU ARE READING
Mourning Skies
CasualeDark poetry, slam poetry, love poetry, five word stories, and my deepest thoughts