Silent Treatment

 

“Worse even than your maddening song, your silence.” — Sylvia Plath

a mark of displeasure
disdain
dismissal
for not measuring up or merely a slip of the tongue
a wish not granted
the unspoken ruler
rewards me with silence
a cold removal of person
above and beyond me obviously 
because
look
I am a poor bewildered thing
left stumbling along
with a mind full of pins and needles
as you sit in comfortable judgement and justification
secure within the stone fortress of your righteousness
handing out words as bounty to the favored of the moment
 

 

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About chimerapoet

I write. I write a lot. A. LOT. There are times I am half blind with a sentence ricocheting off the walls of my stupid, cant be shut off to save my life, brain. I am miserable until I get it down on paper. Punch it up a bit. Usually cross out half of it. And then breathe. Relax. Only to do it all again..... But I just thought that was me. How I am. Not a writer....noooo...not me. Writers are.....writing people. People Who Write. REALLY write. Write things that matter. All grown up very important things. Not.....me. I am just a scribbler of sorts. And I was/am content with that....if it's true, well then....a scribbler am I. Until the thought wormed its way in to my brain (the furtive sneaky bitch) that maybe...just maybe...that is writing. My style. My strange way. But....still writing. So here I am at the dance. Not sure I know any of the moves and the music is entirely mine. But.....only one way to find out. Would you care to join me?
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