The Awful Rowing Toward Being OK

The Awful Rowing Toward Being OK

A Poem by Ty

Instead of shredded crimson whims
buried for a king,
a catapult made entirely of
rubber bands and hairnets
to soothe before the ease,
entirely predicated on
state of mind,
the illusive picture of sanity
the cringing folded muscle
not blinking.

Instead of a cat, a farm of cattle.
Manure piles and riled up chickens
to bleed your ears with sound,
to drip you clean but still wet,
like when your mother dried you
with a towel like a fox tail,
and your bed was still a crib
with no bars,
and your heart didn't ache so fiercely.  

Instead of vines through the cracks, fingers.
Joined by a voice that is your own
twisting again into a dream
which you will remember
as the last horror before a birth.

Instead of tongue stuck to roof
of mouth, of room,
it is a steady wave.
Knees hitched comfortably
and not jolting.
A bed you now feel
for the first time.
And a stove to welcome white ovals;
yellow guts stuck to the coil of flesh
now separating.

And something else...
Lungs now frightened with joy.
A heart beating to the rhythm
of your very own feet,
finally stepping, finally dancing.
And a love that is aching.
Aching so very fiercely. 















© 2016 Ty



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Featured Review

still absorbing this...something about the birth of happiness...the remnants of the past in allegory...the cattle, the chickens, the chaos...maybe past relationships and then settling into a peaceful leaning...the barn repainted...love, that wonderful aching...

Posted 1 Year Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.




Reviews

still absorbing this...something about the birth of happiness...the remnants of the past in allegory...the cattle, the chickens, the chaos...maybe past relationships and then settling into a peaceful leaning...the barn repainted...love, that wonderful aching...

Posted 1 Year Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.


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Added on April 28, 2016
Last Updated on April 28, 2016

Author

Ty
Ty

Oshkosh, WI



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