When you give everything you've got and it's never enough,
it's so rough,
and tumble,
your heart begins to grumble.
Mind races on soundtracks,
leaving behind logical facts,
to seek someone,
anyone,
who gives the time of day,
or night, to say,
your heart,
is a shattered piece of art.
They were fools who did not see,
the stained glass window you are to always be.
The sun pierces and prizes your beauty,
and longs to follow his path and duty,
through you,
through you,
through you.
Making you smile,
every last piece of tile,
and you finally feel,
your purpose,
instead of feeling like a freakin’ circus.
About the Creator
Rowan Finley
Father. Academic Advisor. Musician. Writer. My real name is Jesse Balogh.
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Day 4 of Quitting
If this is how sobriety feels, maybe it’s better to go through life a little buzzed… this, along with other hits like, I want to kill myself, I wish I was dead, and I’m going to throw myself off a bridge have been the only thoughts on rotation these past few days. I promise myself that if, in a month, I still feel like this (‘this’ meaning despondent, full of rage, and simultaneously numb) I can go back to smoking. Until mid-February though? Nicotine is off the table.
By sleepy drafts6 days ago in Longevity
Comments (2)
Ain’t it wild how sometimes the ones who don’t “get us” are just not equipped to handle masterpieces? Let the sunlight in. No more circus. Just sacred center stage. 😊
That ending felt so liberating! Loved your poem!