XII. TO HERA (5 lines)
(ll. 1-5) I sing of golden-throned Hera whom Rhea bare. Queen of
the immortals is she, surpassing all in beauty: she is the sister
and the wife of loud-thundering Zeus, -- the glorious one whom
all the blessed throughout high Olympus reverence and honour even
as Zeus who delights in thunder.
I'll drink your darkness so you won't feel it
I'll bare your pain
Hold my hands high against the clouds
To stop the rain
I'll let it fill me up inside
I'll hold it in when you're around
My eyes turn black
while yours stay brown
This is for the best
you smiles to keep you afloat
the floors of my boat
It's right.. It's the right thing to do
I have to keep you above the water
If you drown, then I lose
Let me do this
Share your abyss
Although I'll probably be gone tomorrow...
It's comforting; your sorrow.
feeling feelings is too easy of a feat. not feeling them is the task. how inhumane you have to become to fall out of the rabbit hole that your mother called love. waking with raw eyes, sleeping with a tight stomach. your passions no longer your passions, because let’s be honest, they were the fire in your writing, the voice in your painting, the entirety of your mind; morning, noon, and night. the sun, moon, stars, meteorites rocketing down in your mind over and over again. repeatedly leaving craters all over your body. they left their mark and you can’t seem to scrub hard enough in the shower to make them disappear. you can’t seem to keep up with your shadow, because these days it seems to be standing taller than you. see. you wilt as if you haven’t been watered and you refuse just anyone’s hydration. you need your passion’s water. you need that familiar breath. the steady breath because yours is just too unsteady lately. it’s riddled with threats of tears in your throat. but you don’t cry right? that’s what you told everyone.
im too deep for you,
too full of answers,
and you can't handle that.
you keep holding on to all of those questions.
you like the suffocation of drowning in a sea confusion.
all those questions in your lungs.
so ill find someone who wants to swim to shore.
someone who's looking for answers. someone who wants to breath.
you tell me you're secretive
you write poetry no one gets the privilege to read
you play songs no one gets to hear
you think things that are never spoken
and you feel things you won't let be felt
to you I am an open book
I tell you random little things
I share jokes with you
But you don't even know I write poetry
You have no idea 9/10 poems are about you
But you have no idea the fear of being put down keeps me from showing you
the words that are yours