I Lock the Door

I lock the door upon myself and swallow any cries

and beat the walls with fists made strong with resolve

for I do not want this life of richness

of feelings

of a constant cacophony of want

any longer.

I envy the stoic rock with water battering against it,

 and massive gnarled roots that hold fast in raging winds,

and I want the breaking to be clean and complete,

and the blood to cool,

and quiet,

and quiet…

Until I can stand behind my sealed and barred doors

in statue like silence,

and feel only what little has been left behind,

like smoke,

like salt rings. 

And perhaps someday I may lean against the locked door,



and let it hold me up.



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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4 Responses to I Lock the Door

  1. Beautiful, Jaye. I’m mesmerized by your poetry.

  2. Dead Donovan says:

    Lovely soul & poetry.


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