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Rod E Kok Jun 2014
Too many times
my heart has been
broken,
my spirit left
in tattered disarray.

All too often
I've responded
through the only method
I know.

Words.

Words written on
tear stained paper,
baring my soul
to anyone who cares.

Do you care?

I sometimes wonder
if anything I say
holds meaning
for anyone.

A question…
why should this
matter?

My broken heart reflects
inwardly,
to be dealt with
alone.

As I write my hurt,
I stop feeling.
My face smiles again,
a hint of a song
shines from my eyes.

Through every bit
of pain,
I learn to
grow
laugh

love.

And finally I resolve
that words
won’t hurt.
Rod E Kok May 2014
Puddles form
around our feet,
rain falls relentlessly.

Water drums
a staccato rhythm,
keeping a beat
of its own accord.

Streetlights bravely fight
against the deluge,
mustering a translucent glow.

Alone we stand,
laughing at our
predicament.
No umbrella, no coats...
no reprieve.

The torrent washes
over us.
Soaked to the skin,
warmth is shared
by a kiss
in the storm.
Rod E Kok May 2014
Do you even realize
what damage was done
when you spoke?

Is there understanding
that your words
caused pain?

Under a guise of humor
I was brought
to my knees.

Will you go on forever
not knowing what you
accomplished?

Or do you secretly gloat
over the knife that found
its mark.

I consider you
a friend, but as I pull the blade
out of my soul,
I have one hope...

That you are
oblivious.
This poem is not targeted at anyone in particular, but rather it was born from pent up frustration at the way my craft and my passion for poetry is perceived. You may not like poetry, and I appreciate that. It is not a genre for everybody. You may not understand the words I write, or relate to the things I write about. That's cool. Not everybody gets it. You may not like me, and I appreciate that too.

Read the poem. I will take the knife out, and carry on. And maybe someday my words will mean something to you, and you will understand.

Rod E. Kok
May, 2014
Rod E Kok May 2014
You’ve said all along
my unfounded fear
in my own ability
was exactly that.

Unfounded.

Not true.

I’ve tried to be
to do
to want
to desire.
But yet…

I fail.
I fall.

Down.

Your love props me up
changes my
self deprecation,
loathing and delusions
of inadequacy.

A smile from you,
a hug
a gentle touch…
kind words of support
encouragement
motivation

the falling stops
ever so briefly
and once again
I start
to
believe.
I wrote this one quite a while ago, and it got lost in the myriad of unpublished completed works. It's not a happy piece. I am guessing I was not in a good place when I wrote it.
Rod E Kok May 2014
I am perceived as being
strong
confident
unbowed by the winds
that besiege me from
every direction.

Yet branches in
my mind are buffeted
by fears of inadequacy.

Nobody sees my tears,
or feels my pain
as the roots which hold me
weaken under stress.

I fear judgement from my peers,
so I hide.

What truly exists inside
gets painted with
an opaque veneer,
a disguise made up of
words, smiles and laughter.

I try reach out,
offering a glimpse into
my tortured soul...
fear draws me back,
back to the shame I feel,
to the disappointment I have created.

Failure is mine.

You tried to help,
crawling to me, your own tears
laving my feet...
I pushed you away
out of despair.

I pray
for a gentle breeze
to caress me,
but the answer comes
in a gale.

And knocks me
off my feet.
'Off My Feet' is the 8th attempt on the given theme, and in my humble opinion, it is the strongest. I believe that the words are the culmination of the previous 7 attempts. Out of all the poems and words I wrote for this collaboration, this one is the most personal. I can honestly say that there are many things in this piece that reflect me. Maybe you didn't know that about me. Maybe you can't see which parts I am referring to. Do you see me as confident, as being able to stand against the wind? Yes dear reader, this poem is deeply reflective.

It took 7 attempts to come up with what I wanted to present to the world. It took 7 attempts to write about me. Although the previous pieces have elements of myself, none so much as this one is like looking in the mirror.

This is another poem that reduced me to tears. The weight of emotion and self-reflection was simply unbearable at that particular moment. I know that a good number of you will not be able to understand this, and I am very cognizant of that. But I needed to reveal this...it is the first time I have bared myself in this manner.

Please, dear reader...don't judge me. If you don't get it, read the Anxiety series of poems (and the introductions) and try to understand. At the very least (and this I have asked before), please try to appreciate the words. Appreciate the emotional journey the poems take you on, acknowledge the power and passion of the message that I am trying to convey, and please be sensitive to the fact that people we know exist in the world I have written.

As always, dear reader, I encourage interaction. I love feedback, positive or negative. I am deeply grateful for the time you have taken to read my work, and I encourage you to read this series of poems (starting with ''Thanks for the Ride'') and ending in this piece.
  May 2014 Rod E Kok
Sarah Pitman
It is 4:30 in the afternoon
And I tell you
This is my favorite time of day.
You ask why
So I point to the gold
Streaming in the window,
Bouncing off the dust.
And you kiss me.
Maybe 4:31 in the afternoon
Is my favorite time of day.
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