Sick Of Being Alone

I gulp down another forkful of loneliness
and choke on the excuses smothering it,
the way globs of ketchup
would cover clumps of unpalatable mashed potatoes.
My stomach tightens,
heaves
and threatens to throw it all back.
I gag,
then swallow.

Lies squirt my eyes
with the pungent juices
of a ripe onion,
and send the tears over my teeth
to wash down the lumps.

I burp up a memory from the past
and re-taste its teases
on the edges of my tongue,
before slowly guiding another forkful
toward the back of my throat.
Bile rises. I gag,
then swallow.

Read more poems by JMariah

The word "Love"

The word “love” has become a cliché, an over-used word who’s meaning has been reduced to a vague, trite, even laughable collection of emotions that song writers and poets pen, that teenagers aspire to attain, and that mature adults avoid mentioning for fear of being shunned by their peers. And what makes the romantic dreaming of love so commonplace, while the true and honest act of loving is so difficult to obtain? Is it that we have romanticised the once-upon-a-time and so totally swallowed the lie of the fairy-tale happy-ever-after that we’ve left the whole idea of love void of rational thinking? Is it that we are expecting to easily “fall” into love as opposed to work our way through it? And after all, is it really the ending to a story or a process of life?

Dark Cloud

Today I am alone and feeling so deeply lonely. This loneliness is so overwhelming, biting into the hours of the day with much crying and a deep depression. I am doubting that there could possibly be anyone in this whole world who would truly love me. I look at myself in the mirror and I don’t like the image I see. And more than that, I can’t believe that anyone else would either. A dark cloud moved over me last night and I’ve not been able to shake it since. I am reaching for the happiness in a love that has always been beyond my grasp, and it scares me. It scares me to think that one day I may find that this illusive love wasn’t meant to be anything but just that – a dream I was never meant to attain.

Dark Cloud

A grey mood slips
silently over my night
and hovers
menacingly
moments above me.
And suddenly,
I’m aware that I’m alone.

A deep heaviness
rises within me
and shields my mind
from reason.
Staggered breaths
break the silence
and flood my swollen eyes
with the sting of self-doubt.

Hours drag on,
‘til morning finds me choking
on the memory
of past neglects and abuses
and drowning on the tears
they’ve made.

And who’s going to love me
out of this depression today?
Who’s going to help me
end this silence
that echoes my loneliness
back to me?

No one…

Distractions! Distractions!

I have tried in vain to concentrate on the work I have brought home to do this weekend, but my mind and my desires are elsewhere. I have appeased all the subtle distractions that vied so seductively for my attention, and now that Sunday is coming to a close, I am anxious about not spending the time tackling the three piles of paperwork that I had promised to tend to.

Even now, as I try to put into words the restless fog that has captured my mind and torn from me my ability to focus, I struggle to lay it down on the page. I pace, nibble on almonds, sip on wine, peer into the fridge to find something else to occupy some time and keep my hands from being idle, and still the work doesn't get done.

And all the stresses that seem to be so tightly interwoven into a web of tiresome concerns, refuse to be pulled apart one by one for my careful analysis. And I just can't seem to function today.

I Miss My Mother

As Mother's Day approached this year, I became very sullen. After about a week, I realised that it was because I missed my mother. She was such a vibrant woman, a social butterfly, a loyal friend and generous hostess. My mother is still alive, living an empty existence without the memories of her experiences that made up who she was. Now this shell that used to house my mother is pacing a hall in a medical facility with other Alzheimer's patients. Her personality has been snatched from her, and I miss her terribly.

I wrote this poem the day before Mother's Day. I post it now.


Mother

You have forgotten
that I have come to see you,
as you walk
to the end of the hall,
and smile at old men
in wheelchairs
and toothless women
shuffling their bed slippers
on the sterile floor.
As you pass me
on your way back,
you slide a glance
over my face
with the eyes of a stranger
and smile, empty.

I still hear your voice
as you call for me
to stop climbing trees
and scaling fences.
I see your smiles
as you follow the lines
of my latest poem,
were they the handstands
and back walkovers
in my competitions.
I still watch you picking out
the choicest pieces of meat
for my plate.
I feel your laughter
that still rides
the beat of some popular tune
you dance to.

And you don’t know how fast
I hold on to the remnants
of what your mind has let go,
misplaced, erased of yourself,
as you walk to the end
of the hall.

Not Me Anymore

You have affected me.
Your words
have displaced my senses
and I can’t breathe anymore.
There’s a stirring inside me
that I don’t recognize
and I can’t sing anymore.
I’m not free anymore.

I pinch my eyes
against the tears
that burn with the breath
of a liar’s tongue.
And I don’t trust anymore.
And I watch silently
as you adjust your touch
like the dial on a thermostat,
so that when I open my legs to you,
you run cold.

See
how you have affected me?
This face isn’t mine anymore.

Can't Trust Anyone Any More

I wake up to find that trust is an unobtainable entity that breathes down the necks of the gullible, while dominating the shadows that blindfold their eyes. Sucked into their dreaming, conned into believing that man's word is worth saving, the simple clutch their hands together and grasp hold on nothing.

I blink back the tears that betrayal traces with a cunning finger over my cheeks and suck in a sigh of strength that fills my lungs with the will to press on. And I put no faith in man, for all men are liars and strive to achieve their own self-serving ends, regardless of the effects their methods have on others.

And I find all this, before I unfold my arms from across my chest and walk out into the dawn.

Read more on Trust