RootsA Poem by Chloe This is regarding some of the things that I feel like right now. Included in this poem are hints and background information on the people in which 'Letters', 'The Carnival', and 'Hunger of the Over-eager Musician' were written about. I spilt some painful Retrace back to my roots; I remember when I was dead skin and bones, a lonely heart and empty eyes so lonely for so long, pain had become home and happiness became a foreign world
I've lived in this foreign world, for a span of a new life lived by a new person, made from the skin and bones I once was
The new person had jumped up in the air, with all of this force called energy and landed on the pile of those rotten skin and bones of mine
But just recently, the hungry musician, who is also the murderer that lies to his God and the mother that was frightened and over-protective in the happy, happy carnival had raised their knives, and sliced away healthy pieces of new skin from my chest and arms
When I analyzed the wounds I noticed the green, decayed skin beneath so I grew my fingernails long and pealed all of this clean, pale skin away
So very rotten I felt homesick and dirty constant tears and the temptation to steal the knives from the hands of the mother- when she was not gripping her childrens' minature hands- and the knife from the hands of the muscian- when his fingers were not dancing about the piano keys, or punching the bible in his siblings' faces- I wanted to steal their knives and return to my old habits
Without this extra layer of skin so cold I had felt I dug through the boxes of my dead person that I had packed away and hid
I found my old blankets, with stains of my blood, stench of sweat, and spots that were still damp from my tears I threw the blankets over my body, so warm, so warm like a..... what is it??? home!
Desperate for my past that I had passed by, hidden under the blooming cherry tree burried among the roots, that I had dug to the cities of misery, with traces of happiness brought by pain that brings me home
Home to the cities divided by roots: a city for my crying child self a city for my angry bleeding self a city for my lost and nothing self a city for myself with my best friend; the friend that stood infront of the storming ocean waters that drowned me once she left
Ms. Mother at the carnival, when I say 'return to my roots' do you think of me returning to you? to your warm arms? your arms that swung the knife at my heart so many blood drops I dripped for you, so many tears I drowned in for you, these tears have now flooded the roots that define the city of myself with you
Mr. Musician that lies to his God and laughs at his siblings, when I say 'return to my roots' what is it that you think of? you think of nothing! you do not know me or the heart that I have and had possessed! you do not know me at all! so why does God order you to stab this heart!? there was never any plan of blueprints of a city in my roots for you
Roots, roots, roots so many roots from this small cherry tree; it is so strongly attatched to this soil roots hidden in the ground, never seen, never wounded the tree has been sawed at for paper to scribble on and firewood to burn for warmpth you'll know, you'll know when I have returned back to my roots as the blossoms on the tree branches will retreat back during this unwanted, unplanned, unpredicted springtime snowfall.
© 2008 ChloeFeatured Review
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Added on March 29, 2008Author
ChloeSeattle, WAAboutI am a 16-year-old young writer and I live in Seattle, Washington. I began writing when I was about nine. Then, I began to play some guitar and I realized that I had talent for music also. So poetry a.. more..Writing
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