"insulate" poems - Hello Poetry

My body is the training ground for All of the reject demons My inner demons failed to qualify as the right sort of fight To match with any worthwhile struggles so My inner demons are over dramatic children They do not wage wars They throw tantrums They stand inside my temples and pound the walls When they do not get what they want And shriek ringing into my ears until they turn blue Then fall asleep when they get tired Forgetting that they were supposed to be upset My inner demons are pretentious They call themselves demons When they are more like imps They tickle at anxiety with the nerve to call it an attack And separate velcro and seams with the audacity to say that They broke something Then press on my heart Daring to call it an ache My inner demons are clumsy They walk with their toes curling around my eyelashes And slip and spill their handfuls of tears At inopportune moments As I tremble due to the ones That have tripped and tangled themselves In my heartstrings and vocal cords Causing me to grasp my rib cage in desperate attempts to reach them And tear apart the inconveniences My inner demons are shy They sway in my veins to the rhythmic pulse With clawed hands outstretched to the blue walled sky Cautious to never leave a scratch through my skin They dance on nerve endings and muscle tissue With footwork just gentle enough to not summon bruises And hold themselves still against my capillaries As if their presence might distract my blood from Its daily circulation My inner demons are hoarders They over-stuff the filing cabinets in my brain With reports and analysis of too many situations And pick up old emotions and hide them in the recesses Of each ventricle and aorta Creating pseudo-space for newer, stranger, replicas Then pack extra breaths into my lungs Storing "just in case" inhalations and overused sighs They insulate their homes with extra calories and extra clothes Hiding until they can forget themselves My inner demons are moody They like to stitch up new wounds with the thorns of roses And pry open old ones with feathers They tie my tongue with pages of foreign textbooks They tie my tongue in gauze and cotton They tie my tongue with other tongues And pins and needles and teeth and drawstrings They are self depreciating and they know that they Are not worthy of their title My inner demons are pathetic I suppose they're right where they belong

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May 10, 2014

May 10, 2014 at 12:53 AM UTC

theatreceilings

Reject Demons

My body is the training ground for All of the reject demons My inner demons failed to qualify as the right sort of fight To match with any worthwhile struggles so My inner demons are over dramatic children They do not wage wars They throw tantrums They stand inside my temples and pound the walls When they do not get what they want And shriek ringing into my ears until they turn blue Then fall asleep when they get tired Forgetting that they were supposed to be upset My inner demons are pretentious They call themselves demons When they are more like imps They tickle at anxiety with the nerve to call it an attack And separate velcro and seams with the audacity to say that They broke something Then press on my heart Daring to call it an ache My inner demons are clumsy They walk with their toes curling around my eyelashes And slip and spill their handfuls of tears At inopportune moments As I tremble due to the ones That have tripped and tangled themselves In my heartstrings and vocal cords Causing me to grasp my rib cage in desperate attempts to reach them And tear apart the inconveniences My inner demons are shy They sway in my veins to the rhythmic pulse With clawed hands outstretched to the blue walled sky Cautious to never leave a scratch through my skin They dance on nerve endings and muscle tissue With footwork just gentle enough to not summon bruises And hold themselves still against my capillaries As if their presence might distract my blood from Its daily circulation My inner demons are hoarders They over-stuff the filing cabinets in my brain With reports and analysis of too many situations And pick up old emotions and hide them in the recesses Of each ventricle and aorta Creating pseudo-space for newer, stranger, replicas Then pack extra breaths into my lungs Storing "just in case" inhalations and overused sighs They insulate their homes with extra calories and extra clothes Hiding until they can forget themselves My inner demons are moody They like to stitch up new wounds with the thorns of roses And pry open old ones with feathers They tie my tongue with pages of foreign textbooks They tie my tongue in gauze and cotton They tie my tongue with other tongues And pins and needles and teeth and drawstrings They are self depreciating and they know that they Are not worthy of their title My inner demons are pathetic I suppose they're right where they belong