8.08.2004
Not a Pretty Poem
How is it possible
that I have ever been capable
of finding beauty in pain?
Everything I feel,
every thought I think,
every molecule inside me
is ugly.
I didn't expect reality to be this real.
I know now that tears do not begin in your eyes.
Tears start with a corporeal pain that radiates through the body, making you curl up in a ball on the floor waiting for it to pass.
And refresh my memory... is it possible to cry without choking on your sobs until your throat is sore and you don't believe you'll ever breathe again?
Though, come to think of it, breathing is overrated...
every time I breathe, I want to throw up.
My traitorous stomach...
there used to be butterflies there.
Why did I ever think there was merit in pain?
There is nothing noble in how I suffer.
There is nothing glorious in this grief.
It's visceral.
It's physical.
It's literal.
Move it along, there's no poetry here.
that I have ever been capable
of finding beauty in pain?
Everything I feel,
every thought I think,
every molecule inside me
is ugly.
I didn't expect reality to be this real.
I know now that tears do not begin in your eyes.
Tears start with a corporeal pain that radiates through the body, making you curl up in a ball on the floor waiting for it to pass.
And refresh my memory... is it possible to cry without choking on your sobs until your throat is sore and you don't believe you'll ever breathe again?
Though, come to think of it, breathing is overrated...
every time I breathe, I want to throw up.
My traitorous stomach...
there used to be butterflies there.
Why did I ever think there was merit in pain?
There is nothing noble in how I suffer.
There is nothing glorious in this grief.
It's visceral.
It's physical.
It's literal.
Move it along, there's no poetry here.
Labels: poetry
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