I Go Gentle On You
I go gentle on you.
Not sure how much you can take,
you are the stormy sea
and you spit out life boats,
then feel alone.
The pattern of my day sheds skin,
unaccustomed to the change,
a new layer where you aren't anymore.
I don't tell you
where it hurts or why,
or that I want you to wrap
your arms around the emptiness
and hold it,
tell the space you're meant
to fill that you'll be back
soon.
Prozac, Lithium, shock treatment,
a time machine, or to ask
Oz that you grow a new heart,
whatever it takes.
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Author's Note
The broken poetry of heartache.
Other stories by Jennifer Donnell
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Lovely and sad.
The pain is palpable. *
"Hope you don't mind." Been there.
*
Sometimes, letting go is the best choice.
Sometimes, letting go is the best choice.
I like parts of this and thought I'd try an edit:
I go gentle on you.
You are the sea
and you spit out life boats.
My day sheds skin,
unaccustomed to
a new layer where you
aren't anymore.
I don't tell you
where it hurts or why,
or that I wish you
to wrap your arms around
the emptiness and hold it.
Prozac, Lithium,
shock treatment,
a time machine,
whatever it takes.
"grow a new heart."
**
*"you are the stormy sea
and you spit out life boats,
then feel alone." Fine poem, Jennifer.
Thank you for the feedback and suggestions. :) Sometimes, yes, Gary.
"you spit out lifeboats..."
Powerful stuff. *
Nicely captured hurt-tone. Especially liked image/metaphor/symbolism of:
"The pattern of my day sheds skin,
unaccustomed to the change,
a new layer where you aren't anymore."