untitled for now

do my hands know how to do anything
other than weave
this armor, a shield around my heart?
my hands,
they have been taught nothing else,
only to weave this steel.
even if it is no longer necessary,
the pattern must go on.
i cannot stop.
i do not know how.
and i shall die in here.


written 4-20-10

The Forge - New Poem

His tempered 220

Cut through me like 440. 

Slicing through my body and soul

Destroying everything I had built myself from. 

A rubbish heap, 

I lay broken. 

Rusting away, rotting in the elements. 

Until I was delicately fathered up

And placed back in the fire 

To be molded and hammered - 

Restored to my old glory

By my very own blacksmith.

Poetry - New Poem

It calls me, 

A long lost friend. 

"How about coffee or drinks?

Perhaps the ambiance

Will inspire you

To love me again?"

It's cries haunt me, 

As I shuffle it to

The bottom of my 

To Do List, 

Avoiding my obligations

Afraid that 

I am no longer good enough.

Written 6-22-09

It Eats At Me

Never beginning. 

Never ending. 

The cycle goes on. 

I simply bury it 

In the attic of my thoughts. 

Termites to destroy my house.

Written 7-22-10

Binary - New Poem

Zeroes and ones. 

Ones and zeros and ones again. 

Love speaks in binary code.

Nothing easy. 

Nothing simple. 

The only part of the binary code

I can read is 

The beginning and the end. 

Written 7-22-10

An Escape

I think everyone has an escape. Something they do that helps them to relax and get away from the stress of life. I think these things say a lot about a persons character or personality. Well, judging from my own, that is the conclusion that I draw. Myself, personally, I have a few different ways of escaping. 

There is football. I have been a Memphis Tigers football season ticket holder for 5 years now, and went to all the games while I attended the U of Memphis. For 4 hours on a Saturday, I get to completely forget that there is a world or problems going on outside the football stadium. The only thing that matters then is the band blowing out my right ear drum, and getting a first down. I know, the Tigers football teams SUCKS. Well, I'm a loyal fan. Either stay on or get off the damned bandwagon. We don't need any fair weather fans lol. 

Ironically, Face Book is some what of an escape for me. While the whole point, I think, is to connect people, I feel like spending time on FB is an escape. I can read what other people have to say, and see what kind of crazy shit they post. But that way, I am not dealing with my own life or my own issues. I get to pretend they don't exist and just jump into other people's lives. And boy am I nosy lol. Of course the games on FB contribute to my escapism. Nothing like farming or running a restaurant or clearing out the woods to get your mind off your daily issues.

However, my favorite form of leaving myself behind is reading. I have always loved to read. I have always been an avid reader. Just seems like here lately my reading has gotten a bit excessive. Almost, as if I am addicted to it. Which is not entirely out of the question. I have a very addictive personality and there are plenty of addicts of all kinds in my family.  I go almost no where without a book. I read just about any time I dont feel like I need to be doing anything else. I go to the library and come back with an average of 10 books a trip. To make matters worse, my parents got me a Kindle for my birthday. 

I read a lot of fantasy novels, some sci-fi, and some mystery/detective books.A lot of historical fiction. Seems to be my genre of choice at the moment. And sometimes I feel like my books are more real than well, real life. The books I have been reading lately all occur in the BC period of Ireland/England. The books often feel real, or right. As if the way things are in the book (the time period, the way of life) are the way things are supposed to be - for me. Perhaps I am remembering a past life. Maybe I should have been born in another era. 

Perhaps I should force myself out of my little fantasy world and join society again. Force myself to socialize instead of diving into a book to go somewhere else. And it's not as if my life is all that bad. I'm not sure what drives me to find all these escapes. I know I have my own issues, but each of us does. The more I run off into my books and games, the more I wonder if I am not sinking into depression. It wouldn't be the first time, and if that is the case it's time to up the drugs again. However, my withdrawing into my own little worlds doesnt hurt, nor does it feel like depression. I guess I will wait for my mother to tell me which it is. lmao. Because when she gets her finger on it, she will be all too happy to tell me about myself. Gotta love her!

Gaia

The burden of the world

Weighs heavy on my soul;

As Merapi blows ash

All over the oil flooded streets

     of Jackson Square.

The sound of dogs fighting

Is louder than the gun shots. 

But nothing drowns out the screams

Of the massacre of the city.

   

11-2-10

I wrote this poem that same Tuesday that I was feeling so down. I guess I was feeling the weight of all the world's issues that morning. Sometimes I do let big events like erupting volcanoes, hurricanes, and dog fighting bother me. More than it should probably, given that at this point in time in my life, I am not in a position to do a damned thing about any of these things.

~ Bewitched Emm ~

Depression

Cycles. Cycles. 

All vicious cycles. 

Circling down. Down. 

Like a flushing toilet. 

Shit that needs to go away.

Bad idea. Bad decision. 

The horror movie of my thoughts, 

A free midnight showing. 

Drowning in my own misery.

I'm sorry that it's all my fault.

11-2-10

I have been having a bout of depression. Im sure I'm not alone lol but it is something that I struggle with. I'm beginning to think that my Prozac is no longer working. I'm not sure if anyone else ever has moments or days like this, but I have had a couple of days recently where the only thing I could think about was all the bad things I had done. All the bad choices, mistakes. Mainly it's things that I regret or feel guilty over. And I have a huge problem with forgiving myself for things I do / don't do. Tuesday was one of those days.

If you're a writer and want to offer some constructive criticism that's fine. It has been a long time since I've written and I'm sure I'm rusty. However, this poem like many others no one will ever see, it simply an outlet for my emotions. Therefore, I will tend to care less about structure and form so long as I get my point across.

Regardless, thank you for reading and giving me a chance to share. For once lol.

~ Bewitched Emm ~