TheHorriblePoet

She/her 🏳️‍🌈

[thehorriblepoet]

The best time of the year is when vernal air comes

All that light is my favorite–Spring is my home

Now it’s poignant with wistful nostalgia–what loss!

The warm air now reminds me of light that is gone

Of the life that’s been ripped from my desperate hands

As the Redbuds usurp dense, green leaves on the trees

I recall your existence has ceased from this Earth

Your bare feet can’t feel lush grass today

Your soft eyes can’t see bunnies and dandelions reign

You can’t taste the cool air as it changes to warmth

You can’t hear sounds of birdsong at morning’s first light

You can’t smell the way petrichor comes from the storms

No more ventures into it–it aches in my chest

The pollen has stung my sad eyes–I can’t cope

There’s no words to explain such a sorrowful state

The thick cumbersome nature of Loss

My poor, sweet child of Hebe–you’re stuck in the cold

In the winter of Death–I’m so sorry–you’re gone

I can only provide a small piece of your Spring

When I visit that eerie terrain–will it suffice?

Will sweet peas, leaves of willow, and zinnias do?

Insufficient solatium–“for you”

[thehorriblepoet]

I reside in denial–a safe place to rest

Like I could run into you in public again

I suppose I could–let’s set a date

I hope Tibb’s Eve will work–I just need to see you

In the meantime, I’ll chase for the shadows around

I am hoping to catch a quick glimpse of your ghost

But I only end up with the pale anamorphs

Imitations who wear disallowed masquerades

I can’t swallow the fact that you’ve crossed–left this realm

You have boarded the ferry–the old River Styx cheered

Your arrival so welcomed–I wish to pursue

There’s no tickets available–hopeless pursuits

It’s unbearable, maddening, appalling–Hell

So I dig–I am trying to bury myself

Down six feet in the ground–I will rest in my peace

The denial a calming, cool balm for my wounds

The false semblance of comfort enough to soothe me

I will let the dirt fall on my coffin-like rain

It will muffle my hearing–no ringing of calls–

That alerts me that you are not breathing–absurd

I pretend that my prayers have been answered by God

They’ve befallen deaf ears–does He know that I doubt?

I don’t think I’ll concede my defeat–I refuse

I will rest in denial for a semblance of peace

[thehorriblepoet]

I want to float through all the debris of space

My soul will fly through dust to find the source

I’ll taste the dirt and smell the light that heals

I’ll feel the chill of space and keep my warmth

I’ll see new colors dazed by cosmic grace

I want to feel new things I’ve never felt

And learn about the universe anew

[thehorriblepoet]

If our God said to kill me–I fear there’d be blind and false faith

You would treat me as Abraham did his own son–bloody hands

You’d feel righteous in killing your own flesh and blood–how could you?

But I don’t have protection from angels with holy concern

No one willing to make the descent from the Heavens for me

There’s no ram that will bleed in my place–no–the fate will commence

I’ve been stood up by God as I stand at the altar in bounds

And my blood will dry stained on the floor in Moriah–Earth soiled

[thehorriblepoet]

As my heart starts to race in my chest my stressed body remains unperturbed

My pinched lungs failed to change their velocity rate–lack of air to my brain

This lack led to a memory loss so profound that my mind is disturbed

If I seem calm will I be protected from threat? Can I survive the rain?

But my heart is imploding–my ears ring–my hands shake–I can’t find my breath

And I’m trapped–the facade too alluring to ignore–I’m a captive to dreams

My false act too compelling–I’m fully committed to my living death

Is there penance? Can I ask for grace as my brain is ripped right at the seams?

[thehorriblepoet]

I can’t grasp the loose sand as it slips through my fingers unleashed

And my fingers can’t convert the sand back to glass anymore

The glass somehow warns blood will be drawn if you linger unreleased

It’s no matter I’d rather spill blood and survive with the gore

For the rest of my life with short glimpses of you and your smile

I’d give up those loud warnings if I could hold on to that smile

[thehorriblepoet]

Alternate ending:

I can’t grasp the loose sand as it slips through my fingers unleashed

And my fingers can’t convert the sand back to glass anymore

The glass somehow warns blood will be drawn if you lurk unreleased

It’s no matter I’d rather spill blood and survive with the gore

For the rest of my life with short glimpses of you and your smile

Than be faced with the harsh truth of sand as it slips to the floor

Through unbroken, smooth fingertips grasping to nothing but wile

My tall dreams are just out of my reach but I won’t close the door

[thehorriblepoet]

I can’t grasp the loose sand as it slips through my fingers unleashed

And my fingers can’t convert the sand back to glass anymore

The glass somehow warns blood will be drawn if you linger unreleased

It’s no matter I’d rather spill blood and survive with the gore

For the rest of my life with short glimpses of you and your smile

I’d give up those loud warnings if I could hold on to that smile

[thehorriblepoet]

My insides have been carved out of me yet I’m breathing in air

The air runs through my empty abdomen in wheezes of vain

I am hollow but somehow still moving in stop-motion flair

I’m an empty, frail shell of a person–there’s nothing to feign

I’m an empty home–all the decor trashed or stolen from me

I misplaced my appeal so the house was abandoned to rot

Now the strays come to vandalize walls or take shelter for free

My thin wallpaper’s peeling off, cracks are presenting like clots

But I hopelessly want to be home again with laughter and grace

I am longing for warmth and soft love–to be cherished with care

Is a garden out front just too much to have hope for?–disgrace

Is a place for pure rest and recovery too much? Should I care?

[thehorriblepoet]

Happy fall!!

Happy fall!!! I’m so excited for Halloween!

[thehorriblepoet]

Self-reliance is all I have known–I had only myself

Had my own back too long I acquired a crick in my neck

I was always on watch–stuck just waiting for horrors unaware

The world’s hazardous–safety felt hopeless–a dream unfulfilled

Isolation the only resort for my peace to be reached

My lone back there to soothe me with all those gnarled scars

I must not have defended it well after all–what a waste

So what’s left then? I wasted my life to false safety–for what?

Am I worthy of peace? Am I worthy of love? I don’t know

[thehorriblepoet]

I could write about you without thought–on and on

The words tumbling out endlessly–fingertips numb

Until all the black pens in the world ran forgone

That wet ink left converging into a black smudge

Yet my fingertips continue their ceaseless, sad dance

As all writing utensils are worked to their end

I begin to inscribe these rough stones with my rants

So that all the world’s rocks have been ground to loose sand

Then I’d choke on their dust as I merge them in piles

In wild hopes that my shapes in the dirt can be read

There’s no way to escape these crazed words and their wiles

I’m compelled to effuse this appeal to the dead

Will you hear it then? Would the tides shift? Would I smile?

[weltenwellen]

Andrea Gibson, Lord of the Butterflies

[weltenwellen]

Nikki Giovanni, The Collected Poetry, 1968-1998

[thehorriblepoet]

I can see the grim avalanche coming–all snow and rough rocks

There’s no way out of loss only through–how does one persevere?

Tell me before it’s too late to feel–I fear numbness means life

To be numb and so cold until heat starts to breach my still mind

I am ripping off clothes–paradoxical heat burns my skin

I awaken cold and naked–confused–where’s my clothes? Where’s my soul?

How do I start to dig a way out? How do I find the light?

[thehorriblepoet]

I am painfully envious–what did they do to deserve what I’ve always desired?

Why do they get such haven–while I am left cold?–my soft pleas unheard–beggar’s hands blue

What’s it like to receive quick acceptance and warmth? My cold calloused hands wish to be soft

What’s it like to be nurtured to health? My frail body still pushes to work though I’m sick

I was set down too young—I was too heavy—burden too strong to be held—I miss it

No more hugs—no more love—“you’re too old for that now”—but can you ever outlearn that need?

I must hate those with love from their parents–how else should I cope? It’s not fair but it’s just

[thehorriblepoet]

The vast waves of denial wash out the abject truth from me

The great splashes try healing the wounds I have gained in your loss

But the tide must recede and not even my dreams can save me

Your sure absence is all I can think of–you’re gone–I feel lost

Like two pieces that won’t fit together again–beyond hope

How denial perfects its sweet dance with acceptance yet never joins hands

[thehorriblepoet]

It’s so clear yet so fragmented–visions of you

Your soft image so clean yet too cloudy to trace

A mirage in the desert–I crave that faint blue

For a chance at a glimpse of your face

Just once more–I’ll let sleep in–pervade my spent mind

I need you in full clarity–please–just once more

My dark dreams are so vacant without you to find

Those damn shadows obscuring my view at the core

[thehorriblepoet]

Hope you're doing good. I wanted to tell you that I love your poems and I think they are beautiful and heart breaking and moving. I hope you know that already but this is just in case you need a reminder.

Thank you!!!!! I’m doing really good lately! So I haven’t been posting as much but this was a great reminder of a few poems I was working on that I might revisit this weekend and post. You have made my day! 💛 I hope you’re doing good as well!