As You, as She, as They. {poetry}
{source}
You ever just feel like —
Maybe, after all —
You might just not make it?
For every step forward you manage to conquer,
Another moment inevitably lies in waiting,
Wherein that which you were seeking has once again diffused,
Dispersing diligently
Within the cracks upon the ground in front of you…
A moment wherein you cannot help but weep,
And for no good reason.
It is the season of love,
And all around you are cheering,
Chanting upon drum pedals the hour in wait just before the sun comes up.
Yet, I lie stripped open once again,
Spread too thin upon the blade of my own nonsense.
And I cannot manage to leave my bed,
I cannot expunge these demons from within my chest.
Breathing feels like breaking,
Ripping throughout the seams of every muscle in my body,
Stealing my hope,
My screams.
And I am now convinced that they will not hear me
As I drizzle out discreetly
Beneath the weight
Of every single everything I could not muster myself to have won.
Today I feel defeated,
In this moment I am overcome,
And it remains my main quest to save myself…
To discern my own deliverance
From archaic blueprints deteriorating upon cave walls
Designed to convince me
That I am not going to manage an escape from this one.
There is no exit,
The doors are boarded from the outside,
Where we abandoned our truth as tithe for the adrenaline rush
Of a not so magical carpet ride
Depleted of logic and reason.
But oh, just wait until the fairy tales; you will have but a moment to believe in,
Before they strip you of that only freedom,
Teaching you to hate your skin
And the body you’re within…
To fear you own mind
To sell your virtue for pennies on the streetside
So that it will rest assured
Your heart will have no haven within which to hide.
And the world around me wonders why
I maybe,
Might just not make it…
Why I am crawling upon the ruins of my own human keepsakes,
Losing my sight beneath a horizon they would not allow me paint,
For fear of me lacking creative restraint
Which they have only sought to perpetuate their own demise.
Because fuck dammit I am beautiful,
Just as you,
As she,
As they.
Dammit, humans,
We might just not make it.
We are embedded within a time warp which appears to possess
Predominantly inherent convolutions of distress,
Severed point-of-factly upon a plateau as we now digress,
Unbecoming what we never became,
Out of fear that a god might forsake us
And our tiny blue dot, floating through space.
You know nothing matters, right?
Only except for what you make of it,
How you craft it,
How you proclaim it.
Within the multitudes of your dimensional interludes,
Do not forget to pay it due respect,
Because if we don’t make it,
I won’t make it,
As you,
As she,
As they.
***
Tarsha Thompson was born in Brunswick, Maine, and currently calls the beautiful state of Colorado home. Though there are days she longs for the ocean, moments wherein she can hear it whispering longingly to her, the mountains will forever hold the keys to her soul. She has been creating poetry since September 12, 2001, and through the years she has begun identifying them as her soul songs, her very own music. Music has always been a huge part of her life, and though the themes have varied drastically throughout their development, she has always been dependent upon music to sustain her overall well-being. She makes her way through life by performing within roles of genuine service, and is presently studying within a university to acquire a degree in creative writing. Poetry is not simply something she does, it is her natural state of being.
***
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