Post by Bodhi on Jun 5, 2005 21:44:07 GMT -5
I recomended that there be a seperate section on this forum for creative works but I was told I could post creative works here, so here is a prose poem type writing. Its really just me trying to express my emotions, mostly about shyness. I know it has mixed metaphors and jumps around from one thing to another but I wrote it to get some of my feelings out there. Hopefully someone will enjoy it, if its not your cup of tea thats fine too. Here it is:
Shyness
I stand over the edge, peering down into its lost, darkened caverns. I try to scream but the icy wind steals my words. All I can do is blankly stare into the fear, its yellow eyes cutting through me.
"yes," a lovely girl replies, her olive eyes seem like glowing beauty.
I never speak, only a quick glance and I never, never, never ever-ever-ever. Why? and a mean man upstairs is quiet, always quiet, listening.
"Sorry, nevermind," as it escapes my mouth, the words small cracks in the air. Each one pounding further into my thin skull. The emotions a tight noose around me. Unable to even say the simplest of ideas. She is still looking at me, as if I'd killed a small animal. The lines of her face seem to pour into my mind like a dripping painting. Her red lips slowly turn upwards in a minute pose. Her body slightly turned, the curves flowing along her. Is it a dream?
She walks away as my left foot slips on the gravely rock, a few stray pieces falling towards the ground, the rickety sound clanking through the mountains. I can only see the empty bottom, the jagged rocks that would slice through my battered body. I can feel my movement inch towards the edge, towards the infinite. The world behind is not here, not there, only a round mass of fear and suffering; lonely souls who can not find a home, searching for truth and love, ending up in small, cramped rooms where the semi-darkness weakens their eyes and leaves them for dead. The light from a distant window faded and cruel, showing them a hope they will never reach.
"Why no talk?", "Why so quiet?", "Why are you a freak?" and their voices are the ones that burn and cripple emotions that are frayed and dying. They think it a mistake of nature, a disfigured brain that can't see the rightness of social conventions. "You are lazy," "You are not trying," "You can change," and you can only nod a silent agreement and go to your hole and cry. The harsh world sitting on the otherside, waiting for you to become another person. Waiting for you to be 'normal' and you lay down and sleep, dreams illuminating a world that never existed, one where people speak in fluid sentences that lack the hiccups of daily life. It is only a mind meandering through a fantasy of light and color. Then the alarm slams its hammering screech through your brain, the light of morning, the light of the new day that is the same, always the same. Your voice box crippled and figures passing through your sight, talking to each other as you sit alone and play with your fingers.
You can see a hope floating though the fog, an idea that maybe there are things that you can't understand. That 'He' knows your pain and is waiting, waiting for the day when the spark will flick into a flame and you will fall on your knees in ecstasy. But the doubt continues as your voice becomes quieter and quieter. The others moving upwards through life: love, joy, happiness. You pass them going down the stairway, lost souls marching in silent unison. The flames ripping up into their eyes, blinding them and they are too far gone to complain. Only march through the pain, the intense, engulfing pain that is always there.
A man looking at a woman. A life passing through his mind, a life they could live together. Yet as he tries to open his mouth, only a strengthening silence. The woman stops a moment and looks at the man, wondering what he wants, what thoughts fill him. She wants him to come to her, to talk. A moment, and she walks away, he is too broken. His mouth slowly closing as he watches her walk into the world. He stands still and waits, waits for something that will never come.
Shyness
I stand over the edge, peering down into its lost, darkened caverns. I try to scream but the icy wind steals my words. All I can do is blankly stare into the fear, its yellow eyes cutting through me.
"yes," a lovely girl replies, her olive eyes seem like glowing beauty.
I never speak, only a quick glance and I never, never, never ever-ever-ever. Why? and a mean man upstairs is quiet, always quiet, listening.
"Sorry, nevermind," as it escapes my mouth, the words small cracks in the air. Each one pounding further into my thin skull. The emotions a tight noose around me. Unable to even say the simplest of ideas. She is still looking at me, as if I'd killed a small animal. The lines of her face seem to pour into my mind like a dripping painting. Her red lips slowly turn upwards in a minute pose. Her body slightly turned, the curves flowing along her. Is it a dream?
She walks away as my left foot slips on the gravely rock, a few stray pieces falling towards the ground, the rickety sound clanking through the mountains. I can only see the empty bottom, the jagged rocks that would slice through my battered body. I can feel my movement inch towards the edge, towards the infinite. The world behind is not here, not there, only a round mass of fear and suffering; lonely souls who can not find a home, searching for truth and love, ending up in small, cramped rooms where the semi-darkness weakens their eyes and leaves them for dead. The light from a distant window faded and cruel, showing them a hope they will never reach.
"Why no talk?", "Why so quiet?", "Why are you a freak?" and their voices are the ones that burn and cripple emotions that are frayed and dying. They think it a mistake of nature, a disfigured brain that can't see the rightness of social conventions. "You are lazy," "You are not trying," "You can change," and you can only nod a silent agreement and go to your hole and cry. The harsh world sitting on the otherside, waiting for you to become another person. Waiting for you to be 'normal' and you lay down and sleep, dreams illuminating a world that never existed, one where people speak in fluid sentences that lack the hiccups of daily life. It is only a mind meandering through a fantasy of light and color. Then the alarm slams its hammering screech through your brain, the light of morning, the light of the new day that is the same, always the same. Your voice box crippled and figures passing through your sight, talking to each other as you sit alone and play with your fingers.
You can see a hope floating though the fog, an idea that maybe there are things that you can't understand. That 'He' knows your pain and is waiting, waiting for the day when the spark will flick into a flame and you will fall on your knees in ecstasy. But the doubt continues as your voice becomes quieter and quieter. The others moving upwards through life: love, joy, happiness. You pass them going down the stairway, lost souls marching in silent unison. The flames ripping up into their eyes, blinding them and they are too far gone to complain. Only march through the pain, the intense, engulfing pain that is always there.
A man looking at a woman. A life passing through his mind, a life they could live together. Yet as he tries to open his mouth, only a strengthening silence. The woman stops a moment and looks at the man, wondering what he wants, what thoughts fill him. She wants him to come to her, to talk. A moment, and she walks away, he is too broken. His mouth slowly closing as he watches her walk into the world. He stands still and waits, waits for something that will never come.
