Human

[Grace]

My God, do you hear
My heart thumping in lags
And stutters?
Like the melody of a drunkard’s
Midnight ballad, riveting and broken
Bolting into the bosom of night
Plucking petals and waiting for dawn’s
Sobering hues to revive me once again

Or Lord, the way I move my hips
To the wind of his moans
And shed my cocooning clothes at the
Mouth of his apartment door
Undoing and fluttering about—
A butterfly stitched
In all of his
Lusty townsman sins,

Well, do You see how
I transform into drums and trumpets
My hellish stride,
A glassy brushstroke against your holy skies
My hands a basket of all these lies
They fed me in your muddied name,
And I lost my mind dancing
Through the storm of blades
That tore my faith asunder
Once I found that I was yet again
A pawn in a religious game

God, can you hear me?
I am pain and painting
Embodied: I am art
In her rotting flesh
I am sad and depressed
I am pastel and way past
My patience,
I am wearing weariness
On my neck,
His grip has tightened
I have had enough,
Of these yellow trials and tribulations

I am your mad masterpiece!
I am art!
How come you feel nothing?


~ I don't know if any kind of explanation is necessary but I think it might be for this particular poem. I wrote this a few days ago. I was feeling feverish, angry and severely upset... By the time I wrote the final stanzas, I had been crying. I was enraged. As I reflect on it, it feels very stream of consciousness, even delirious in a way. What do you guys think? I would love any and all suggestions, criticisms, ideas I could get. I don't think it's great or anything but I specifically chose to share it because it poured out of me in a cathartic blur almost.

Anyway, I am rambling as I very often tend to. Thank you all in advance!

Hi Februarious,

Yes, it's a stream of consciousness, and fits very well with the title. While reading it, "trouble deaf heaven" came to mind, (Shakespeare sonnet 29)...how faith (or faithlessness) is a very human thing to have. Religion, as your poem points out can be a "storm of blades". This type of poem (which, as you say, poured out of you "in a cathartic blur") was therapeutic for you to write. You also write well. As it's so personal, it puts you in a position of being quite vulnerable, so , as a reader I feel I want to protect the poem rather than critique it! Help! But maybe what I've said is an honest response to it..just some thoughts. Thanks for sharing this poem. Grace