The unavoidable terror
 
I have oh so many words to express
grief and suffering.

I can oh so poetically tell you about
my pain.

I am oh so good at articulating
sorrow. 

Here. Check out my latest iteration:

It’s like I’m clinging to a sheer
cliff face,
trying to climb.
And sometimes I do manage to raise
myself a few meters
up
but then I oh so reliably and predictably

lose my grip
and fall,
farther down from where I started
(of course),
knock my chin,
scrape up my chest and limbs,
bloody my fingers.
And I can’t see the top.
I can’t even see the bottom.
I’ve been at this for so long,
I’m beginning to think that the cliff face
is all that there is.

Vivid, isn’t it?
Gets you right in the feels, doesn’t it?

I am oh so good at articulating
sorrow,
and I am oh so tired of doing so. 

So much so,
I may finally be willing
to let go
of this cliff face,
push back
into freefall. 

Maybe I’ll even learn to embrace
the unavoidable terror
for long enough to reach
terminal velocity,
zero gravity,
and just float for awhile
before I slam into
the bottom
that is coming for us all.

I’m beginning to consider
letting go,
pushing back
from this cliff face.

I’m beginning to believe
that even falling
might be better than this
clinging.



Other poems:          And it occurred to her              between                   born again 

 

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