I Am

What are you?

I am...

Constantly wandering,

Wondering,

Pondering depths of my mind to see what's within.

My movement is spastic,

My journey, elastic,

Looping around from where I begin.

I am...

Constantly fumbling,

Tumbling,

Stumbling around, getting lost in my words.

My thoughts are erratic.

My movement is static.

I can't help but feel this all is absurd.

I am...

Crippled from moving.

Nothing's improving.

I feel the streaks of tears on my face.

I feel that I'm losing,

Though not of my choosing,

So why do I stand here frozen in place?

I am...

Downtrodden and holding,

The edges unfolding,

The cracks in the moulding, beginning to bend.

My grip here is slipping,

The scales are tipping,

And not in my favor, it seems in the end.

The eyes are all waiting

And all breath is bating

To see how the course will change by our hand.

These chains are all tightening,

This brutal enlightening

Reveals the corpses we've laid in the sand.

With bones strewn before us,

A frightening chorus

Of piercing dark silence, in which we condemn, 

Digs graves of the morrow,

Unleashing the sorrow,

That lost deep within... I am.

Reviews

[LazerRays]

oh this is nice! you are many things. many things are perfect for a great character and certainly you sound interesting. fumbling eh? im not alone!!! YAAAYYY. to be honest, i am a bit clumsy in my talking though haha. i slur my speech a lot and accidentally combine words. haha. which is why i prefer writing online :P

[Mrudula Rani]

First I will answer your question. Iam just like you with so many qualms, I too constantly wonder and ponder the depth of my mind, but not too deep, that's because my life experiences are pale compared to many.
I loved the form of your poem and your honest observations. And I think you are more than all the flaws and pains you expressed. You are a brilliant writer with a very generous heart.

[casablancavic]

Would make a wicked song.

[Annebelle Ashire]

My dear Ashire,

As I sit here conveying words written from soul to friend, in many ways I feel your hand guiding my own through this story.

"My movement is spastic,
My journey, elastic"
- because there is no direction in the moment of chaos and this path seems to be made of a child's play thing.

"Stumbling around, getting lost in my words.
My thoughts are erratic.
My movement is static.
I can't help but feel this all is absurd"
- Like tripping over fun-house mirrors and landing on ones face. Equally embarrassing as frightening.

"Crippled from moving.
Nothing's improving.
I feel the streaks of tears on my face.
I feel that I'm losing,
Though not of my choosing,
So why do I stand here frozen in place?"
- This was a moment of disbelief as I realized in a daze that the ride isn't going to slow down, no matter how loud I scream.

"Downtrodden and holding,
The edges unfolding,
The cracks in the molding, beginning to bend.
My grip here is slipping,
The scales are tipping,
And not in my favor, it seems in the end."
- Every one of us would ravenously soak up the admiration of the scales tipping in our favor if they would. No doubt. However. As they have not been tilting in the slightest, perhaps it's time we bear our own weight.

"The eyes are all waiting
And all breath is bating
To see how the course will change by your hand. " ---- Remember how fickle fate is.
The chains are all tightening.
This brutal enlightening
Is showing the corpses we've laid in the sand."
- It does appear that the tighter the shackles are, the more aware the world becomes.

"With bones strewn before us,
The frightening chorus
Of piercing dark silence, in which we condemn,
Digs graves of the morrow,
Unleashing the sorrow,
That lost deep within... I am."
- Because each positive step forward feels like such a steep, rugged, asthmatically heavy step into my own 'grave of morrow'. "

~~~
You've stolen the words from the graces of my lips
Perceived to be rightful thoughts, however many counterfeits.
My friend, My soul, My forever love - Don't you understand the arts our lives consist of?
You see my thoughts the way outsiders see the sun,
Bright and momentary, yet beautiful and necessary.
As I hear your soul the way poetry dances through your voice.
I wish to never let this go, not by force, not by choice.

- Annebelle