inner monologue.

how is it

i live a life now

that you know nothing of?

how is it 

that you just...

aren't?

the snow fell on thanksgiving and 

i thought of you

first snowfall

yet the phone call never happened

so i texted everyone i knew - 

only three people cared

i spoke in a long conversation

with someone

who made me keep backtracking

to explain where my tangents came from

you'd have known

instantly

and followed along

adding your own until

we ended up some place

nowhere near where

we began

i'm scared

because they've nearly broken me

of the habit

my fingers still remember how to make

the construction paper chains

we used to decorate our house

at christmas

though it's a lost art

that no one quite appreciates

not unlike us

Reviews

[Crowley]

Ouch....this is crisp and sharp like the sharpest of knife edges. I feel a trickle of blood in my mind where this grazed my emotional center. Its like feeling lost in your own life and not knowing what to do or what direction to take. You wake up in the same place but it seems a little foreign...no alot foreign, you aren't even the same person. I have been on this road, and it is an icy one. Time to get out the chains and get some traction. Great write.

[Tony]

Now I think I understand the empty feeling I see in much of your poetry.
Which has always left me hanging, knowing the author is smart and gregarious and engaging. Why drag the boat anchor I thought, having never loved like this.

Regardless of the cause, it really hurts long and deep to lose someone we love long and deep.

I am weak, and make no such bonds.

Jenniewren is an Angel, I am pretty sure.

[Nobody.]

another emotional powerhouse. felt this deeeeeeep.

[Robin]

wow ..

"i'm scared
because they've nearly broken me
of the habit"

wow ..

[Ed Hart]

often, crossing this long desert, it seems we are alone and lost, but there will always be a signpost...it isn't the other we are trying to find, but our own worth...when we shine with it, our friend will come running

[Creepy Swine Guy]

Jennie, I worry. You seem to write this poem too well. The words and stanzas are different for each occurrence, but the ache and the longing are always the same. I know that old wounds linger. I have my own ghosts I hear my own whispers in the wind. But it feels like such a fresh wound when I read it in your words. Perhaps you are just that good.

[Sweet_pale_cacophony]

I feel for you here..and i just know this must have been hard to write for you..?..only you can write like this..so brimmed with sentiments yet so so very gentle..like the first wisps of snow that fall on your knuckle as the winter begins..i was moved by your words.