I am still...

super random poem from "My body is rebelling"

The cold grips my breath in a fog 

coated embrace of death and life 

and total stillness, 

but the silence of glass crystals 

hanging in the air speaks louder 

than the words I try to write. 

I am shaking, my hands trembling 

with anticipation of finding 

the right keys on the keyboard, 

and yet my body rebels against 

me, locks my thoughts inside 

my head until the train jumps 

its tracks and I am left with a 

mess of piled up letters... 

and nothing makes sense. 

Facts and opinions and poetic devices, 

stringing together sentences of 

orange chicken and jumping 

cats because the two car pile up 

has quickly turned into 20,

and I laugh because sometimes 

that's all I can do.

I am full of starts and empty of 

endings, catch an occasional middle 

or a random line, do my 

best to find a poem amidst 

the chaos. 

Because words are my weapons 

and I wield them with pride, 

arm myself with a smile and a tear. 

And in the end, I am still a poet. 

I am still shaking, 

and still writing, 

still waiting, 

and still trying.

Reviews

[victoria]

i really like this beacuse i can relate. keep writing your great at it.