Not Today

Poem of pain and anger. Wishing to be acknowleged, knowing it won't happen. Begging to be seen and heard and cared for and about. Wanting to be human.

 

 

 

Not Today

Why can't I just tell people, "Not today"?

 

Not Today

 

My back is killing me

 

My head hurts

 

My legs ache

 

 

Not Today

 

I want to scream 

 

I want to drool

 

I want to cry

 

I want to sleep

 

 

Not Today

 

It's too hot

 

It's too cold

 

It's too windy

 

It's just right

 

 

Not Today

 

I want to go outside

 

I want to go listen to the sounds of nature

 

I want to soak up some sun

 

I want to check the mail

 

 

Not Today

 

Make those dogs stop barking

 

Make the bird stop squawking

 

Make the hammers stop hammering

 

Make the drills stop drilling

 

 

Not Today!

 

Just one day of peace in my life?

 

 

Not Today!

 

Just one day of solitude?

 

 

Not Today! 

 

Just one freaking day when the world stops and someone asks how I'm doing?

 

Am I in pain? 

 

Do I need anything? 

 

How can they make my life better?

 

Not Today!

 

Not one f*****g day when the pain is minimal, and I can stand life!

 

 

Not Today!!

 

Not today.  Not today.

 

Author's Note

I don't consider myself a poet. This was written in a time of pain and anger. Is there a potential for an angry poet?

Reviews

[Astrid Hamilton]

p.s.

What I truly like about this poem is the humanity you have wrapped in it like a gift to the reader's heart;
you made (them) feel, that these feelings are (sadly) real,
and I want to know, but you don't have to answer me,
and I mean this with my very heart:

How are you? How do you feel? Are you feeling ill, bones aching, weak legs,
standing there in a sort of self entrapment, for the world is quicksand to the legs if you don't get passed the hurt somehow, and no one can do it but you,
and I don't mean to make you feel bad or not feel at all,
because your anger and upset is real, just as happiness that can be found- it means you're alive,
and what I strive to say most,
is
How are you?

...I truly hope that you're okay.

I mean that.

I do.

[Astrid Hamilton]

There is always potential for the window of what reality calls life, if you stop to look with those
eyes of yours, given by the Creator on your birthday- have fun then, at least- celebrate your hand to pen-
your smile on days you don't feel like this, but stop, please, I hope, or else,
(not for the negative energy of reading dark poetry)
as all poetry is beautiful, a pouring of one's soul; not that I hide anger and walk away from it with a pretend smile,
but you don't know me, nor I you,
but believe me,
life has truly been a living hell for me;
but if I chose to look down at the ground and live in darkness and not look out the window at those birds, and hear the drills, and see the squirrels, life would become a drill, and then, no thrill,
and darkness; kill,
the symphonies only I and you can create;
bliss a poet makes;
just by staying a while,
inside,
one's heart,
with a smile.