I’m doing NaPoWriMo again this year, since I loved doing it so much last year and found that it gave me such a wonderful mental clarity. It also allowed me to open up and work towards writing about different topics than I would normally stray to.
Growth. Creation. Exploration.
All of these things are important to me in my craft, even though most of the poems I’ll be posting this month will be pretty raw (since it is one poem per day). Ideally, I’d like to put my poems into a collection, but, you know. No rush.
My little sister pops
like a door hovering in the breeze,
the pushpull of current
keeping her wavering but stable
until someone walks in
close lock door
scream the wallpaper off the boards
and the nails from the beams.
Her isolation is desolate
and the air is all gone
even if there is a window
to jump out of
she decides to
hold her breath out of spite
for being exactly where she is
and us being exactly who we are.
She is a shaken pop bottle
humming with unreleased tension.
Your anger is you wrapping
a white string around the tips of your
fingers to cut off circulation,
just because you want the rush
of saving yourself, your identity,
so you poke at your black blue
pads, watch them palpitate
with heartbeats. You phrase yourself as
warrior victim so you have a common
enemy to protect yourself against.
I hope one day you see,
nobody is chasing you into the room.
You have the key to unlock the door,
to stop palpitating,
no more pushing like a gust
against all the things trying to
hold you together. Just untie.
Image credit: Rebecca Last Name on Flickr