Laid to Rest

Inside this crumpled paper on the floor

Are the words of a poet who couldn’t find the words for a poem

Tried to write a letter….but the writer wasn’t home.

Would have sung a song if the singer had some tone.

Alone…on this blank page that’s been crumbled and thrown

To the trash where it belongs because the contents are not known.

And the ink that formed the letters that compiled to words of a broken song

Is aware that although unique are the scattered sounds of a wounded symphony

Everyone has their notes that form a melody, but it seems

That mine does not ease into a harmony.

There are pieces missing along the way to complete this masterpiece

Voids left gaping open covered by Persian rugs to attract the eye

But stepping upon the surface and falling deep into the black holes

Of my life.

Scars under the surface from the internal fights.

Lights may guide me home, but what if home is where I’m running from

What if the unformed words on the blank page are the beating drum

And I’m like the slave that has decided to run.

Run…when the question of freedom is not a certainty.

When the question of healing just might never be.

When the picture of forgiveness is something I choose to be blind to see.

What if I jump off the cliff and wind doesn’t carry me.

The words of the questions are weighing heavily and

Catching up with me.

This is a poem that is being written without my consent.

A piece that is never to be performed b/c of that mature content.

A letter undeliverable and a song on the cutting room floor.

Because if this tune escapes my lips it’s not a secret anymore.

I could be blunt and blatant

Brash and Impatient

Tactless and vacant

No matter how many times I try to rewind and rewrite the words

It seems they twist to keep disguising the nouns and the verbs

It’s possible truths not arising to still protect this girl

But what healing comes from a falsified world?

Hurled into a situation that I never asked for

Fast forward to today and question what I carry this wrath for

Travel down this path or keep this mask in my back pocket

2 options- Put this away in a secret place and lock it

Or rip the shirt off my chest and bare the scar where someone ripped out my heart and dropped it

Drop kicked across the room …yes peep the scar and rock it for everyone to see

What’s a lesson learned or test passed unless you bleed

What’s the difference between a blank page or these words unless you read

And they keep on writing themselves like emotional thieves

This whole subject is surrounded by cherry blossom leaves

Because I’m baring my soul and what’s being perceived

BEAUTY.

I’m telling you my darkest secret and you’re still viewing a queen

So I lyrically lay to rest a ghost who will no longer be seen

I couldn’t come out and say it but you mean nothing to me

A piece of my past that’s dead and will remain to be

No hinder or hesitation because from this hold I’ve broke free

And now sweet dreams to a queen who’s crown is the heart where her royalty resides

And maybe it’s not meant for me to like this piece as the words typed begin to die

And the last thing that is written here is Rest-In-Good-bye.–

#poetry