Mary Campell Spencer

Mary Campell Spencer May 2014

Got It

You said my aberrant behavior will get me nowhere.
Yes, indeed that could be all too real,
But perhaps the thought never occurred to you that your where, is my nothing.
Something to you as in rolling down a hill or riding a wave can be ever so tedious,
However those acts of liveliness are what I find the greatest ecstasy in.
We live in a world where there are microscopic bacteria taking down elephants,
water flowing at 5,270 meters cubed per second freezing solid in the air,
trenches over eleven-thousand feet deep that is yet to be explored,
and having continents breaking apart to such a thin extent that molten rocks from the center of the Earth are reaching the surface and creating open hole volcanoes.
Now if you choose to spend each day in this world with a new pile of paper,
I want you to have the best days of your life,
doing what you want.
But when it's expected, actually forced,
upon others,
you have not done the Earth well.

Mary Campell Spencer May 2014

Drainage

You can drink and drink and be high on life, feeling numb to the world around you,
But then strikes the realization that your glass is empty and you’ve let all your emotions flood out at once,
And you are empty, you are drained.
You can cry and cry, but it reaches a point when your tears are no longer nourished, so artificial moisture seeps out of you and dissolves at the mere sight of the sun.

#poem #poetry #drunk #emotion

Mary Campell Spencer May 2014

Yes, No, Maybe

The dream that kept me busy every night since the days of coloring for homework assignments,
is no longer fiction.

The fantasy that was so perfectly unreal
is alive and living in my heart,
but while it lives,
it tears down my mind as if I am constantly going off the trail I had kept clean for years.
Why is perfection tearing me apart.
That doesn't seem like perfection.
But it is perfection.
What is perfection.

The path I've made myself for room to grow is suddenly crowded with beautiful, terrifying, peoples that are always present, lingering...They're ghosts of you that haunt and mock me.

I am gifted to have what I do, yet without a little loss how am I supposed to feel desire, and lust?

Maybe I'm just broken...

May 2014

Juniper Deel

Black Scars

What if scars were black?
A deep and cold black.
We'd see all the pain
That people try to lack and conceal,
Sadness exposed.
And the world would know what it does to people.

Mary Campell Spencer May 2014

2 Down 3 To Go

There is a table with five chairs.
It’s always stood in the center of the room.

Connections made by meals,
A place where a wood maker envisioned happy gatherings and Sunday brunches.

So he carved 5 thoughtful chairs,
Each with a different occupant who sits in their own chair every time.
I bet the wood maker imagined orange juice being poured upon that table, and people tapping their fingernails against the side of their wooden seat.

His envisions came to life, for there was once a time where a mass of a family gathered there each night,
With a dog licking up scraps.

The tragedy is that his dream has died now.
The lit conversations have blown out,
Just like the candles that still remain set there each night in desperation to restore the old times with remembrance.

Don’t worry wood maker,
Your 5 chairs and table still indeed remain,
But only three remain occupied.
Your chairs didn’t do well enough for the others not to desire a new table.

#heartbreak #poetry #original #tragedy

— The End —