Nov 2017
the whirlpool churns,
beginning to turn frothy and treacherous
i reach my arms towards anything
but i clutch my own shirt,
and i spin.
the whirlpool turns me around
my eyes cross and i suspect i may
drown
drown
drown
i want to ground myself
but in a whirlpool
where is up and where is down
i am churning
my nails dig deeper into the fabric
this brain of mine tosses itself
into havoc
i am holding onto words
i struggle to remember
the whirlpool churns
and in turn those words are lost to me
beginning to turn frothy and treacherous
i reach my arms towards anything
but i clutch my own shirt,
and i spin.
the whirlpool turns me around
my eyes cross and i suspect i may
drown
drown
drown
i want to ground myself
but in a whirlpool
where is up and where is down
i am churning
my nails dig deeper into the fabric
this brain of mine tosses itself
into havoc
i am holding onto words
i struggle to remember
the whirlpool churns
and in turn those words are lost to me
today, i tried my best to work on some free verse rhyme. i admire spoken word poetry for its incredible rhyme and flow. it's something that i feel is hard to even think about as a largely 'written word' poet (or at least, i struggle with it).
a storm so horrible and paralyzing only has one name
anxiety
a storm so horrible and paralyzing only has one name
anxiety
