I'd show my poetry to...my cousin, basically. Maybe my best friend Sakiyna. But that's pretty much it.
I took a poetry course last semester and that helped me to come out of my skin a bit. I love writing poetry, but for the most part I keep it to myself because it's more therapeutic than anything.
Here's one poem, though (this is absolutely terrifying, but, #YOLO, I'm facing my fears anyway). I just feel like I should post at least one since I have this blog. I wrote this one today:
Dear God.
Blood pours out of my heart
overflowing into the
crevasses
of my lungs.
I’m
coughing up the
coagulated clots,
attempting to spew out
the hardened
bloody spheres.
A painful buildup of my
innermost parts,
lodged in my throat
I gag on my ownness.
The pain of suffocating…
is talking to you.
It hurts.
I believe you’d hear my words
as they don’t fall on
hearing impaired ears
but
I can’t seem to
formulate the sentences.
A pythagorean theorem
of words and syllables,
grunts
groans.
I’m cognizant of the solution,
but I cannot digest the problem.
I attempt a hyperbolic trajectory
of dialogue.
But the gravitational pull on
my life’s dissertation
is likened to a black hole.
A mutilated conversation.
A crimson stained regurgitation.
Beads of anxious sweat
form a river
deep enough to tread
but I’m shackled to an anchor
submerged beneath
the anxiety
drowning in questions.
A relentless grip on
life’s problems.
I grasp inexorably
as if it would
soften the calloused factors,
as if I can mold them like clay
into defectless sculptures of
my own creation.
I have not the capability.
I cannot lament to you
as I am still choking,
as I am still drowning.
Are all of the answers
in a catechism?
In anguish
a whisper dipped in blood
escapes pursed lips.
A question,
the sum
of the anxious sea of inquiries-
Dear God,
Why?© Paige Parnell, May 2014
(I write depressing poetry, sorry ya'll. My innermost being is clearly mangled, but that's probably how I balance being happy on the outside.)
xoxo.
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