Sometimes I Find a Blank | Poetry Interlude

sometimes I find
Photo by Brandable Box on Unsplash

Sometimes I find a _______.

Sometimes
I shut my eyes.
I ask myself how I feel.
I am my best therapist.
Am I my best therapist?

Sometimes
I ask myself
What am I hiding
(hiding or hiding from?)
in the basement of my mind.
My conscience calls
But alas, no answer.

Sometimes
I’m disheartened
To search myself
And discover nothing.
I come home
empty handed.

Sometimes
I find a monster
like that from a
Stephen King novel
and I regret
I ever searched
in the first place.

What do you find
When you search
Sometimes?

Or do you move
from place to place
with the same, old box
Always sealed?

A Lonely Pinwheel. Chapter 2020. Honestly Self-Aware. © TheFragranceWriter.com, 2020, except where noted otherwise. All rights reserved.

Pain is the Flower | Short Poem No. 123

pain is the flower
Photo by Isham Krb on Unsplash

Pain is the flower that blooms from the crack in the concrete.
Pain is what enables us to feel. . .
To find beauty in life.

I haven’t flown the heights of joy
before diving the depths of hurt:
Overwhelmed and lost.

But pain won’t last forever.
Beauty will search for any crack it can find
and bloom something wonderful.

I Scribble My Last Letter

Chapter 2020. Honestly Self-Aware.

© TheFragranceWriter.com, 2020, except where noted otherwise. All rights reserved.

I Scribble my Final Letter | Poetry Remix No. 60

scribble my final letter
Photo by Joanna Kosinska on Unsplash

Tonight, I scribble my final letter.
I’ve waited ’til now to say goodbye.
I guess I was always avoiding this.
But no, I couldn’t give a reason why.

Crushing thoughts cause my body to shiver.
Oh, how forever-expectations die.
Acquainted with the taste of sharp distraught.
Lifetimes pass in the gentle tears I cry.

Trinkets echo thoughts of you in my mind,
Thoughts that pierce me at a moment’s beckon.
But memories are all I have to choose
to hold onto when I cannot reckon.

But still, my heart cannot accept the truth
that what it has, it had, and had to lose.

Smoke and Mirrors

Chapter 2020. Honestly Self-Aware.

© Jonathan Swift and WritingWithStrangers, 2020, except where noted otherwise. All rights reserved.