Traveling in these wicked twists and turns in my head.
How has this happened? I would love to find,
A most comfortable place to rest my mind.
Hide.
These winding turns, alluring, they may be.
I do not want to pick this ugly fight.
Though you hold me hostage, with strength, Might.
I FIGHT.
I have begged for your unearned trust.
You leave invisible Ransom Notes,
Promises. Just as invisible. Sinking boat.
Yet I float.
I cannot make happen, what will not be.
I cannot force an aching heart, to feel,
That which it will not, that which isn’t ideal.
I heal.
©thebipolarmuse2012
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I am passionate about writing… having fallen in love with poetry when I was 11 after an assignment in school in which I had to memorize and recite poems. I loved how poems could be elusive, inspiring discussions about what the writer is trying to convey. Oftentimes, words can be stringed together to create a beautiful poem that seems to be about a specific person or object, even if the true subject matter isn’t about a particular person, or time in life, but rather about an inanimate object.
That is the beauty in writing.
