Poetry Pit Stop

I don’t write poetry as often as I used to, but I tried my hand at it last night while attending a seminar given by the author of a new novel. I’m posting it here because I want it to be somewhere that feels wide open (not just on my computer screen and bouncing around inside my head).

You/Who/I/Where/We Belong
Maybe you belong with someone
cutely quirky
Not fractured & carrying
all the broken plates of her past
which still stab with their
sharp edges held close
For, as much as they sting and dig
I am protecting them
For they are mine
They are me
Without them, I
don’t exist.

You don’t even know how old I am
Thinking me not far from
hand-holding, crossing the street
But I have memory
of the burning fissures in
the Earth when it was new
I have sipped and supped
and been driven mad
by bowls of spirits
Trying to chase the
demons, run them screaming
from my mind.

Do I lack
because my brain is not
always
at the ready
to give service to
the piecing together
of the so-called
Big Ideas?
Who are you to decide
how I should occupy myself?
Circuses of the insane
Do they smile beautifully there?

Β© 2014 Gianni Washington
(b/c I’m oh so professional)

Thanks for reading πŸ™‚

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