Poetry doesn't need to rhyme
For every single time
Considering that poetry is emotion
That's evidently in motion
And I desire to write something subtle
Where I'll be thinking hard for a strange title
(J.a.t.m)

Poems move in currents
changing speed and
splitting ways,
and we watch.
The rolling faire,
the words they share
leave beauty behind,
ignorant,
understood by one;
intentions only guessed
while images we digest
from origin unknown.
We read, we take,
we contemplate.
But unless traversing upstream,
over boulders,
holding rocks,
growing tired as we near the point of pain
we never see its start.
The water breaks through stone,
alone...
And where,
only the poet knows.

When did I get this way?
Was it my first lapse in judgement?
Was it the first time I was so terrified of going to school
I had a panic attack?
Was it the first time I pulled?
Was it on any of the numerous nights I broke down
alone and afraid of who I was?
When did I get this way?
It scares me to know I've been this way forever.

You wonder why I won't stop,
But do you wonder why I ever started?
Do you ever wonder how I feel?
Do you ever wonder if I have tried?
Do you ever wonder that I have cried?
Do you ever wonder that I almost have died?
Do you ever wonder why I have survived?
Do you ever for a second wonder that I can't?
Do you ever wonder?
You wonder not.

You're back but you are not welcome, such a familiar feeling to have you consume me entirely once again. Trichotillomania, trich for short, a big word with a simple meaning. I. Pull. My. Hair. Eyelashes....pressure....have to pull...needs to be out...can't focus...can't speak...can't move...hair...pressure....eyelash....get out....leave me alone...don't do it....too late....its bad....how bad...bad....I did it. It's out. The pressure is gone, for now. I can breathe again. But then I see myself for what trich has done to me and I hate what I am, I hate how I look. Why do I do this to myself? Why trich? Why do you let me do this?

left or right
up and down
sideways and spinning around.
when asking questions and searching
for answers, do you ever feel like the
listed examples?   Just a continual cycle
of confusing frustration.


Deborrah Ann Stenberg
www.deborrahann-stenberg.artistwebsites.com

I want you to hurt, the same way I did,
I want someone who means everything to you,
to destroy everything you have,
burn down everything you've worked for
like you did to me.

And at the same time,

I never want you to hurt a day in your life.

There you were
at the end
of my driveway
your bright red
hat against
September's
fog of sunrise

There you were
as you as
ever
waiting with
your hands
shoved in your
pockets

And there I was.
totally
in love
with you-
my gloves and scarves and clothes
hiding my
feelings

so I'll go to
the farm with you.
I'll walk the muddy
apple lines
with you
and I'll pretend it
doesn't hurt me
when
you do not
say my name

and later,
when the LP is on
and the cider's on my stove-
and the dogs are running,
and your body is
pressing mine
I'll hold my breath
as to not tell
you
I love you
ceaselessly

hold me for
another
moment
and remind me
we're just
friends.