I smiled with a breezy what can you do faultline to my mouth,

and laughed and walked away,

as if I had a purpose and those words weren’t important,

mere droplets of water sliding off a ducks back,

so no one would notice

that I was skewered to my soul,


Why did I allow it?

So easy to ask.

So easy to condemn.

But impossible to explain.

I went shopping,

 looking for something warm and bright and comfortable, 

and instead wound up imprisoned,

a dummy in a window display,

frozen in a pose and outfitted in a style

I never wanted.

Yet I invested so much in time and energy

and dreams

pulling back from the chasm became so complex it was easier to stand still,

even as it was cracking wide open,

even as the tremors made me stumble 

back and forth blindly,


Too much gets buried when the landslide takes you,

so you hang on to what you can,

and you promise yourself that it will all be worth it when the earth finally settles.

And hope that the scars will fade,

before you have to explain them,

before you have to explain

what you

don’t understand.


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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5 Responses to Tremors

  1. Sometimes we are the person we understand least.

  2. Pingback: Writing Links…7/24/17 – Where Genres Collide

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