After many working days of giving of myself in love patience and endurance There are joys in the mist and I'm Thankful The days past have had their struggles and blessings.. I have been facing the challenges .. The mentals cares and the growing pains that comes with time experience and rough edges.. I know Sleep has been a thing I have chased, and tried my hardest to pin down.. by accidental falls.. Sleep where are you my heart calls. But yet my days catch her sometimes..lolzz I mean really.. I crave for certain events on days.. its absence quite chilly. Yet there are many delays.. But this Wednesday I needed Wednesday the rains fell and poured me replenishment to my thirst, and dear love Wednesday loved me.. dearly gave me the rest I needed. Wednesday fell upon me, and gave love, like cloud nine times eleven sent. I tried to hold on to Wednesday and pouted as it had to carry on... Now its Thursday and as I labor my eyes cry for rest to sleep as I'm pushing and working strong. This day has been long.. My off days are Thursday and Friday.. Sunday and Monday may bring, rest and love, flowers, and kisses and sweet misses of sweet napping's I'll say.. ahh don't delay.. @ selinasharday_rose H.E.R #POETRY 2023 S.A.M Published.
There is a dead beetle on the floor in the bathroom. It has been there for weeks. Someone must have noticed it but paid it no mind. More than someone. Someones. No one has bothered its carcass. Its legs are curled in at odd angles, not unlike an infant sleeping. Someone would notice an infant sleeping. An infant sleeping on the floor of a bathroom. Or an infant dead in a bathroom on the cold, grey tiles.
The color of its dark body is in stark contrast to the light floor, but still it is ignored. Have I been bright enough in this life to stand out? Am I light against the dark? Or dark against the light? Will I be remembered? As I slide through the experience of living, I don't know what impression I've made. Am I the dead beetle? Will I be the dead beetle? My life has not been bold. One may only presume the same of the beetle. There are too many people in this world for me to be a true stand-out. I merely exist. No matter my color against the background of life, I am simply waiting to be swept away. As inconsequential as a dead beetle in the bathroom with little attention paid.
There is a saying that everyone dies twice. First when you leave the mortal realm. The second time when your name is last spoken and your memory ceases to exist amongst the living. What if you never live and are paid no mind. Can you really die then? What if I am not even the beetle? What if I'm less than a drop in the bucket in the universe and I slip through the cracks of society? At least the beetle gets a poem.
Feeling the rain more than hearing it 6:24 dark and threatening It’s so cold in this ******* basement
2 hours and 36 minutes away Crouching in plain sight The work day.
Delivering food for the food bank, which is punk as **** frankly, It’s a wasteland out here And people need to eat
(A human right, if I understand the constitution correctly. Happiness is a lost pursuit in a body that’s hungry. You say food is a privilege <yes, you said it and believed it>, I say it’s life and liberty.)
Two 15 pound bags at a time In exchange for baggage a mile high Stacking cred against labor to build tone in your thighs
My joints wonder how young I think I am Remembering the time my leg seized up and that old man just stared until I saw him see me and I smiled, I’m so silly
Hurry before all this pain ripens to taste Slug it down like tequila Try not to make a face Born at the finish line, running in place.
2 hours and 26 minutes to make the coffee and absorb the caffeine While I’m still me And there’s nothing else to be
Looking forward to working outside in the rain. Good morning.
The water that goes in and out of my body the soft spoken words that reach my tounge I stare at the door and he stares at me I am no opening nor ending and yet, I hate the color of anger and the color of rebellion in the same way I hate violence I hate the color of blood the choice of liking something became clear When you have no choice you choose a path When theres two you question when there's five you question I hate the color red in the same way I hate lust I hate the color red the same way I hate you And I came not hate red anymore in the mornings instead I look up and I came to think that I don't hate red but the misery of me.