I am a bruised soldier in a war of my own making.
Battle weary, I surge against the tide of my disconnect, a half hearted flailing.
Battle weary, I surge against the tide of my disconnect, a half hearted flailing.
I have fed and fostered this image of self hate so that it blocks out the sun of reason and gives me no freedom or release.
Locked against a common course, the heat of "what should be" as though I could simply be defined by the status quo, rages against my soul.
I am not defined by the weight of expectations or the simple business of circumstance. I will not go gently into that good night as an effergy of what I might have been.
I am bruised and battle weary. I am my own chain and wreaking ball and infinite failings.
And yet, in spite of myself, I rise against those thousand voices who try to lay claim to my mind and steal all the pieces that, woven in intricate design, brought me wholly into being.
National Poetry Writing Month (NaPoWriMo) - 30 days of poetry: Day 1: April 1st
And yet, in spite of myself, I rise against those thousand voices who try to lay claim to my mind and steal all the pieces that, woven in intricate design, brought me wholly into being.
National Poetry Writing Month (NaPoWriMo) - 30 days of poetry: Day 1: April 1st
Thought 'bruised and battle weary' this still reads like a battle cry, especially that ending....rising, 'against those thousand voices who try to lay claim' to your mind! Very moving.
ReplyDeleteThanks so much for reading and for your kind words. It is much appreciated :)
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