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The Poetics of Pain


I SUPPOSE

I know not your name
For you arrive like a rush of blood
Spilling meaning upon paper.
Dry is the ink
Defining my mind’s imprint upon corporeality.
Dead is my natural pose
Slumped
Above a laptop.

I know not your purpose
You, however, presume to know my own
Shouting words within my hollow whole
And threatening my soul’s duality.
Receptive to all sententious prose
-A figure of speech
No parenthesis.

MY RESPONSE TO HEAD SHRINKERS

You can silence me with pills
Deafen me with therapy
But, as long as I can think
I shall always be myself

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3 thoughts on “The Poetics of Pain

  1. I appreciate this poem and how it speaks to the muse that inner turmoil can so often be. Do you find that when you let it speak it sometimes quiets more quickly than other times?

    I especially like:
    “I know not your name
    For you arrive like a rush of blood
    Spilling meaning upon paper.”

    Well said!

    Thanks for sharing,
    eLPy

    • Thank you for your comment. For me, writing is the most productive expression of inner turmoil. It is so much more civilised that projecting it onto others and less destructive than internalising it!

      • Too true. I can relate. Sometimes emotions can be so overwhelming you just have to say something or do something, then you write and BAM now you think maybe I’ll go ahead with my day, my chores, maybe even more writing. At times I’ve pulled up my own book to reread poems I wrote that helped express my feelings before.

        Cheers!
        eLPy

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