I don't understand
A short poem
Today I’m going to try something a bit different.
And oh my goodness I’m nervous. Poetry feels so much more vulnerable and I don’t know if its because I just haven’t shared it on here yet. Or maybe its because I don’t have characters to hide behind.
Fiction is definitely my thing. I think that's quite obvious at this point. I don’t know how good this poetry is. To be honest, I enjoy it but I don’t read it as much as I read fiction.
I actually have an entire journal of poetry. Its Whitney Hanson’s book called “In poetry we say.” It’s filled with some really good prompts. For all of you poetry writers who are subscribed to me… I say check it out. It’s on Amazon.
The prompt for this one was
“In English we say: I don’t understand.
In poetry we say:”
There is nothing poetic about the way I can’t even comprehend my own mind.
The melodies of my thoughts echo in my skull, empty, existing incorrectly.
The wrong pitch and language, unable to be translated and received.
Me, the captive of my own conscience.
The manuals of normalcy stretch out before me,
telling me how to convert, conform, and eventually confine.
But I don’t know how.
I can’t fathom how there isn't at least one being with a mind like mine, someone who
could help me wrap my head around my own wishes.
I’m searching aimlessly for a blueprint.
To tell me how I’m supposed to feel, see and act.
But all I can find is accusing stares and twisted opinions.
So for now, I suppose I’ll only keep rowing through this desolate sea of confusion and indecisiveness.
The hollow bleat of my heart as my only guidance.
Let me know if you guys are interested in seeing more stuff like this. I have a whole vault of it.
With all the words
—Chloe
That’s so wonderful ❤️.
And Indeed sometimes I wish that life has come with manual when we got born.
But yet if it would,
would we have then all those fictional stories from you, or diary’s full of poems ?
Wouldn’t that be more robotic?
Maybe that’s the beauty of finding it. You do you 🤗
If you have a vault, then open it!
Poetry, whether attempted or succeeded, is a pure form of mind artistry.
And your artistry is yours to own!
And it is beautiful.
And beauty must be shared to be recognized.
Your artistry is yours to own, yet from the shelters of vaults it must be freed
For beauty hidden is beauty dimmed.
Your artistry is to be shared, for beauty is the spark of Life!