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jacqe-boothPoems
Sitting, restless In this changeling Sensation Of freshness and renewal. Running Rat on a wheel. Each passing day A different way Of feeling, An altered state of mind. Seeking To find A man within the boy. Hoping to see The real me. Alive and kicking. Hot flushed, this post determined puberty And the desperate need to feel. An urgent angst to Be. Short fuse and temper flare. I’m not really there Yet still somehow Everywhere and Everything; Else breathing. Dysmorphic chest Heaving Exigency In this Juncture Soul puncture, And bloodied bandaids Cast off My heart Once worn on my sleeve. I am finger skin, Flesh and nail Torn And jagged edges Peeling. Perplexity kneeling, I am deeply lost inside of me. Begging to be found. Compund; unbound. They say that beggars can’t be choosers Only losers left to dreaming. They also say That I may be a dreamer But I’m not the only one. I will come undone in this undoing. Eschewing A life lived unalive. Slow unravel To once again Begin To belong in this Skin Stitched bleeding riches To my bare and brittle bone He is not alone I feel him Running Waiting Sating disquietude With an attitude Unshackled He is not running Rather feet flying A rat inside A wheel.
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Nov 16, 2010
Nov 16, 2010 at 10:47 PM UTC
perplexity kneeling, deeply lost inside of me.
Sitting, restless In this changeling Sensation Of freshness and renewal. Running Rat on a wheel. Each passing day A different way Of feeling, An altered state of mind. Seeking To find A man within the boy. Hoping to see The real me. Alive and kicking. Hot flushed, this post determined puberty And the desperate need to feel. An urgent angst to Be. Short fuse and temper flare. I’m not really there Yet still somehow Everywhere and Everything; Else breathing. Dysmorphic chest Heaving Exigency In this Juncture Soul puncture, And bloodied bandaids Cast off My heart Once worn on my sleeve. I am finger skin, Flesh and nail Torn And jagged edges Peeling. Perplexity kneeling, I am deeply lost inside of me. Begging to be found. Compund; unbound. They say that beggars can’t be choosers Only losers left to dreaming. They also say That I may be a dreamer But I’m not the only one. I will come undone in this undoing. Eschewing A life lived unalive. Slow unravel To once again Begin To belong in this Skin Stitched bleeding riches To my bare and brittle bone He is not alone I feel him Running Waiting Sating disquietude With an attitude Unshackled He is not running Rather feet flying A rat inside A wheel.
Written by
jacqe-booth
Australian
Nov 16, 2010
Nov 16, 2010 at 10:47 PM UTC
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