Tag Archives: Poet

Fodder for the fire

Posted by Zeannaroux on

I occasionally plan out rants in my head

Minor thoughts of things I wished I said

But there are times when they take control

When they grow past my original plan

Morphing into something that leaves me with dread

Today’s nightmare happened fairly early

I wanted to debate with friends and family

Regarding abortion.

To make it known, I stand for freedom of choice

Because every voice, is worth listening to

But it’s my voice that I wished was silenced

Because it brought with it memories long passed

I thought I got over it, guess I didn’t

Now it’s dark outside and I am covered with fear

He isn’t here, but I can hear him breathing

The hitched sound of a grown man

As he gazes upon an unexpected child

It has been awhile, since I dreamt this dream

But I can feel him breathing, as though he was in me

I just wanted a clean debate

Wanted to talk about something important you see

But here I am laying dark

Trying to convince my beating heart

That the remembered man is not next to me

A heavy nightmare

Posted by Zeannaroux on

I wanted to be someone. I think about that daily.

I wanted to be someone and yet I sit. I became nothing. I am not helpless, nor hopeless, nor lost. I am not broken from the wasted pages surrounding the computer desk. I am merely something that became nothing. A person less blob of what could have been.

I am still capable of many things. I can still write my way into a heap. Carefully singing old hymns of what once was. A dream instead of a dark memory. I am here cutting away and pasting little hopes I once held for myself. I make the patterns on my skin.

I truly did want to be someone but I don’t actually remember what that someone is.

My mind hurts (revision)

Posted by Zeannaroux on

This is a drug. Sculpted by a set of hand cuffs made of plaster.  Not my finest creation, but this is not my finest hour. It sits and bakes in the wake of the addict. Hidden among the weeds and the trees and the flowers. Only those who suffer could understand it’s power. How it grows and holds. Expanding from the molds which housed it. A plant in the mind of those who know where to look. Where to find such meaningless things in wish filled dreams. Only they can understand. This drug. Sculpted by a set of plastered handcuffs. This isn’t my finest creation, but it only took an hour. I can choose to give it power, or I can choose to throw it away. I am the addict who hides. Among the tree and weeds and thorns. Watching as it expands from the molds I sculpted. I leave meaning in its creations. Define it by dreams that I am making.

The Queens Quest

Posted by Zeannaroux on

These broken toys with a childs soul

Hidden in the painted garden

Red and white, central war.

Disguised as a game of chess.

I guess, that the future can be changed

With a hatter that is madder and slick

That a simple trick could bring about

A guillotine event worth talking about

Dreaming

Posted by Zeannaroux on

I thought it would be better if I died.

A hopeful wish really, but one I still believed in. I wanted to go away. For everything to end.

Only, I entered an agreement for a new feeling. One which brings me pain.

I figured it would be better if I was deceased.

My rotting body used to study various diseases. For science of course. While my mother grieved and my father went on living. I figured, that with time, memories of me would fade.

Only, I entered a realm of false hope. When memories fade only to become the chains that choke me with yesterday’s desires.

I just wanted to go away.

Puppet

Posted by Zeannaroux on

A tick tock heart made with clay and discarded parts. Sat on the window to dry. The painter and the sculptor, who where known to hate each other, gave it meaning before it begin beating and put it on display. But it would not sit, where it was meant upon the window still. Instead it would clatter and thump and jump as though to reach the rotted sun.

So the painter and the sculpture sat about to make another. This time a heart that would sit still. But they failed in times that changed because neither heart could feel.

Nightmares

Posted by Zeannaroux on

It leeches and bleeds

As I scratch with blunted nails found on top pillow.

They curve into my cheek to my head where nails can’t reach.

The wounded symphony of rust and blood

And red and lead

Tapping on the bones as I try to go to bed

It is testing me, a dream I can not see

As I roll with a grinded grin

And try to sleep again

I dream of stability

Posted by Zeannaroux on

“I am surprised you are still here.”

“Why?”

“Because all good dreams die young.”

“…and?”

“Wells it’s been ten years now now…and yet here you are no matter how hard I tried to get you to go away. I wonder what that means.”

“Probably that you will never be rid of me?”

“Yea…I guess so…”

So I’ve gathered

Posted by Zeannaroux on

I dream of wicked things.

Spliced together with feathers of woe

I am told that this is not normal

But I gather clouded screams like candy

And wave them in my head

I know I am far from sane but

I doubt I am better off dead

I dream of such wicked things

Spilled with feathers of old

I am told I am nowhere near normal

But I gather clouded being that matter

And keep them in my head

I know that I am far from sane but

Such things only matter when you are dead