Find Me... #Poetry
Find me at the edges of my chill spot
Looking to find my disturbed some peace
In the rhythms of the buzzing cold breeze
While watching man made machines flow
Like a metallic stream
Even as my defiant demons scream.
Find me looking still like a fatigued tree
Feet planted on an empty concrete street
The echoes of my chaotic mind holding me prison
Until my pens work to free
My shackled pots of ink
To enable my soul and light link.
Find me diving deep into frozen words
Looking to be a part of their imaginary worlds
Opportunely painted across thousands of book pages
Hoping to rid myself of unwanted rage
And the brutality of a traumatic past
While decolonizing the black first.
Finding oneself is a tiring inward process. It is harder when one is not quite settled on meeting themselves. I for one having a problem with everything but especially the past and how it was handled.
Your poem is tragically beautiful. I found it while trying to see if ‘mentalhealth’ was a tag anyone used, and was rather excited to see a fellow poet in the tags.
The feelings of frustration this evokes... I’ve re-read it a few times now, trying to ensure that my reply fully grasps it, but it feels like each time I read it, it has a different emotion, all woven together with the thread of frustration.
Sometimes it's easy to pen and then I pen complexity through simple words. Writing can be interesting even for the writer.
Yes. Frustration. An emotion that won't stop leaving me feeling helpless. And nothing frustrates a man like helplessness!