Some poems reveal more of my heart than others. Some are just plain fun. Like this one, which I wrote a couple years ago while sitting in the laundry mat.
Laundry O' Laundry
Laundry o laundry,
Why do you pester me so?
There you sit,
In the corner of my room,
Your pile growing daily,
As high as the mountains on the horizon.
Your constant stare,
Your unclean glare,
I just can’t bare.
Why must I spend my only day off with you?
Lugging you down the stairs,
To the laundry mat.
Waiting for you to wash, rinse, spin.
Succumbing to the dizziness of watching you
And around as you dry.
Lugging you back upstairs,
Putting you away,
Only to find you growing again that same day.
Laundry o laundry
You torture me so.
Please go away!
Please leave me alone!
While not 'properly' trained in writing poems, I do consider them poems. While writing them I hear myself sharing them at an open mic or with a friend. My focus is on getting my emotions out, onto the paper where I can see them, mold them with my hands then embrace them. Sharing them helps me to heal. I'm heard when I share them. Being heard and seen is healing in itself.
I've kept most of my deeper and emotional poems to myself but would like to 'come out' and share one with you. Perhaps it will encourage me to share more.
My pain is my own.
I claim it like a child claiming a goody bag,
yet excited for the possibilities that lay
Nothing about it looks good from the outside.
It may even look quite plainto some.
Everyone's pain looks different.
brown, black, blue or
Layered like a pine cone.
Protected like an oyster.
peel back those layers,
break away the shell
and you'll eventually see
Being this open and vulnerable is fairly new so I will leave you with these pieces of my heart for now. Thank you for reading.