Don’t Listen


 Don’t listen don’t listen don’t fall 

easy simple words

that roll off a tongue with patronizing ease

but that voice isn’t just in my ear

 it’s in my bones and in my breath and along my skin

it’s in the taste in my mouth

holding like a fist in my hair

don’t listen don’t listen

don’t fall

but what if I’m pushed

and what if the fall doesn’t kill me

and instead of an exorcism

a pinprick

that slows me down

just enough

so that the voice can take its time

and spin out its instructions 

in paint by number detail

and what if I don’t have even a mustard seed of strength left

to raise my hands and cover my ears

don’t listen don’t listen

don’t listen

don’t fall……

I hope 

I pray

I can’t hear on the way down




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. 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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6 Responses to Don’t Listen

  1. Beautifully expressed

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