Quiet Poetry Lounge : Woe's Fiery Cup

lilcherry76

Well-Known Member
REGISTERED MEMBER
Mar 17, 2003
515
8
Houston, Texas
Occupation
17, 11th grade at GPHS
Many times I’ve sipped,
From the cup of human woes.
Leaving my body numb,
On the verge of being froze.
Never thinking outside my surroundings,
Or caring if I knew it.
All love was like a football in my hand,
Every change I got—I threw it.
Because holding it,
Made others attack.
In the blink of an eye,
Reality hit me and I lay flat.
No way of moving,
Paralyzed from the mind down.
Knocked senseless and penniless,
But I could make no frown.
So no one could see,
Or really—now my facial expressions couldn’t speak pain to be.
And I was trapped inside someone else’s identity,
For someone took my body—or should I say rented it from me.
Only for a moment,
Because it was given back.
But just like you—when I put it on,
The skin wouldn’t retract.
Because I wasn’t the same,
And wasn’t trying to be again.
For all I wanted,
Was the insane craze to end.
That made me think ideas,
I didn’t think could be conjured.
Leaving me dumb struck,
Causing me to ponder.
No water satisfied my thirst,
No salt made my wound hurt.
No “I hate you”—collapsed my universe,
No ones love was sweeter than stubborn’s dessert.
And I licked my lips,
Until all taste was gone.
Walking merrily down the road of darkness,
Knowing that I was walking it all along.
Every light I saw,
Cause my eyes to shut.
And every lustful flesh,
Begged my hand to touch.
This cup from which I sipped,
Had all humanity stirred in.
And my heart like Pocahontas,
Went just around the river bend.
Foolish me,
Around that corner lied destruction.
And everybody and their dog,
Ate at the luncheon.
But notice that,
I speak in past tense.
For I’ve elevated and removed myself,
From all of this.
For now anyways,
Every now and then I’ll drop by.
And take my devilish fall,
From my heavenly sky.
Or until I feel that,
My cup is of no use.
But the strength for this type of action,
Can’t be made in thy youth.
Too early—way too early,
To mature so suddenly.
To have people mocking,
And pointing crooked fingers at me.
Knowing that they’re no better,
But I guess their mind is paralyzed.
And blind,
Because they’re looking through smoke colored eyes.
Trying to burn holes,
In my loose fitting flesh.
Until—until,
Until there’s no more of me left.
But like I said,
I’ve elevated.
But for every rise,
There’s new mess makers.
A secret of mine,
For a split second—poetry will decrease.
Never fail to realize,
That trouble will always have a mouthpiece.
True—always true,
Poetry return.
This is one lesson,
I had to learn.
Because sometimes experienced faults,
Have to be gone through.
Despite folks numerous,
“I wouldn’t if I were you’s.”
No toenail is long enough,
Or hair follicle made chemically.
Can ever replace—feel—or even come close,
To being me.
One of a kind,
Is that good or bad—I’m no one to say.
For I made not myself,
My words make no century old roots break.
These woes—these woes,
Haunt me timelessly.
Into the great depths,
Of eternity’s eternity.
Fastened seatbelts,
Couldn’t have saved my life.
Only detoured it further,
From my souls fright.
See I didn’t watch out,
For that silver tongued devil.
And before I knew it,
I was back on bottoms level.
But this body worked so hard,
To rise and continuously do so.
And yet here I am again,
Sinking further and further below.
To do what—try to rise again,
I don’t think so!
I’ve been down more than up,
So hell just hand me a pillow.
It’s kind of rocky down here,
But my body knows just how to move.
Brimstones kind of tough,
But not too bad for damnations food.
Whoa—who am I,
I must be a fool!
Because I’m making hell my heaven,
This tempest in a teacup.
Is locking my logic,
Straight up!
Real life given freely,
Disclaiming—disclaiming.
All the time,
I should be praying.
Enjoying false life’s succulent,
And devious sandwiches.
But just like Snow White’s apple,
TNT comes in small packages.
So many—so many times,
I’ve sipped human woes.
How many times I’ve done it,
Let’s just say I don’t have enough fingers and toes.
I fell—I rose,
Times 5—that’s 10.
I’ll try to rise,
Once again.
So hell here’s your pillow back,
I guess I won’t be needing it.
Yes—love is still like a football,
But this time I’ll be receiving it.
Darkness here’s your cup back,
I guess from me—there’ll be no more sipping.
No—I USE TO BE a regular customer,
But now I’m no longer tripping.
And person reading this scribe,
Here’s your wondering thoughts held back.
That you fought to keep hidden,
In hells microscopic sack.
And now you’re back to normal,
But you didn’t even feel your skin retract………..
 
I love the way your work makes me think in ways I wouldn't usually. That's the mark of a true artist. Love the football as love analogy, and this verse is so tight:

Darkness here’s your cup back,
I guess from me—there’ll be no more sipping.
No—I USE TO BE a regular customer,
But now I’m no longer tripping.


Flow on, sis, flow on. :blob fire:
 

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