TRUTH Vigilante: Ew, Icky. How Gross?

Holding It In

Holding It In…for you, who sleeps at night

I don’t read aloud some of my favorite poetry writes —
thick text best left to the fantastical theatre of my mind.
please don’t approach with platitudes for sifting through
that jumble of collected words, strung up, glowing array —
window display but exhumed demons of my mind exercised,
forced to my devices to purge these life lessons.
my ramblings might give the faux angelic appearance
of reformed psychopath who raged, buckled under —
but not a danger in pressurized chamber ceding these diamonds.
lay down pawns for kings positioned to prompt,
hoping I’d sacrifice my queen rather than bleed
an army of in Trojan, troubled soul.

So, don’t expect a shove in the shoulder, smile and shout ‘get outta here’,
humbly acquiesce when you acknowledge. I’m too busy punching myself
in the damned heart with a frown-brain rewired, as I fight internally eternally.
Not your fight. Right. Just thought you’d care to know, since you only notice
the sweetest gifts and concessions of a bleeding heart, holding it in.
Smile. Move on to the next, certain they’ll also appreciate glowing remarks.


4.21.23

No small task for an emotional person to use objectivity, logic and override a torment that ravages my body, holding it all in

What’s unique about poems like this is jotted thoughts written one at a time from the mind’s simmering process that produces each floating revelation. Raw and incomplete and still or forever informing. Now edited and shared, here.

A week from now I’ll forget the impulse that produces this…take more time…depending how deep we go to get that memorable scar. Or, remember those cuts open to receive more happy words in salted wounds.

A book is coming…I keep telling myself…as all kinds of arbitrary deadlines near & pass…like blaring traffic. So, there’s that.