This, Mary, is after your time
but I still come here
Hoping to divine your expert opinion
Sure, everyone knows the story
and all good students of literature know
(even those who lied and watched the movie)
who the real monster is
Still, Mary, I devour the tales of you
more captivating to me
despite my love of sci fi and of horror
your life itself pumps my blood faster
the loss and grief and grasping impotence
of having nothing and everything
between your legs
And I know, Mary, you lost what I
will never even have in the first place
But rather empty egg sacks
Than babies dying in their cot
I understand the witch, wise with words
Conjuring up a resurrection
electric from your fingertips
But, Mary, isn’t he still an aberration?
I’m conversing with you
In my head, as they lay me down
trickle the sleep into my veins
and jolt me back to life
When, between the treatments,
my stitch marks all grow paler
Well, I thought maybe it was time to come here again, it’s a bit of a graveyard. My life has changed so much in the last two years. Unfortunately my writing hasn’t changed enough, so prepare for a deluge of emotional poems folks.
Say you need a break
Time away from me
A chance to focus on yourself
Let your mind be free
Everyday I understand
That I am hard to bear
Stuck in my pyjamas
Or in the bed upstairs
I try to be more fun
Scrape it from my bones
Play the girlfriend puppet
Made of sticks and stones
She cannot last for long
She always falls apart
Running through your fingers
You see she has no heart
The real me reaches out
But it’s like she has no hands
Nothing to grab hold of you
To help you understand
Because you are not in my head
You cannot hear the voices
Every day’s a battleground
I make a thousand choices
All of them are made for us
I choose to stay and fight
And though I lay down all the while
I use up all my might
I know I am a drain
So wrapped up in myself
Selfish and unable
To focus on your health
I’m not the me I thought I was
I wanted to be giving
Now I understand I’m not
All I am- is living
I wish I was like you
Could take a break from me
But I am stuck inside myself
Desperate to be free
"Poetry is an echo, asking a shadow to dance."
-Carl Sandburg
Lyndsay E. Gilbert 