Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
 May 10 Simon Bridges
afrota
Do not rewrite the past.
No hand can erase
what time has carved
in wounded skin.

Let your oldest notebook
inscribe the first line
of a new tale —
written in fresh tears
and the sweat
of becoming
a future still unfolding.
It's good that my memory has been damaged.
Irrevocably from all the drugs I consumed.
It's perfect.
I can't even remember the things.
I just want to
Forget.
I just wanted to move back to that.
Emptiness in my childhood.

That vacant stare.

The wind whistling in my ear.
And old addages.
To help me fall
Asleep.
Run boldly into the redundant.
Bravely wave the flag.
Of dying arts.

We will ride the corpse.
Of inconsequential.

Imperfect.

Until we break through inconsequential.
Into a meaning.
Expressed in a dead language.

A thought you had.
That you couldn't express.

Don't go softly into that still night.

Die hard.
Leave a mark.

Reside in the faults.
I woke up in right now.
When I was really back there.
Apprehensive and afraid.
My cold sweat.
Chilling

Sleeping past the morning
Nervous that nothing will pan out.
As it does in my head.

But I don't think it happened before

Back when my mantra was
Never did nothin.
Never was gonna be anything magnificent.
Never tried enough to be great.
Not even mediocre.

All I ever got
Was a failed
Life.
 May 10 Simon Bridges
nivek
give thanks
often

give thanks
out loud

give thanks
you are not as bad as you could be

give thanks
you are aware you have faults.
Beauty lies beneath.
Wait for it to emerge.
New shoots, rich earth.

Part the foliage.
Give them more light.
A chance to fight.

Simply crouch.
Dip your head.
See beneath.

Beauty lies beneath
the bleak.
Worth the effort.
Oh, that we'd all have
huge and messy hearts,
that we'd expel
the shrivelled, the trimmed
as no longer fit for purpose.
Next page