Fame’s Lament

Wrestle me from the spotlight
there is comfort in the dark

Shadowed corners are fertile
where nimble imagination feeds

Weary of the light; I beg of you,
drag this scorched ego

Where edges softly disintegrate
and oblivion refills lost bliss

(Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image my own)

Stolen Identity

The woman currently abiding
within this costumed realm
is merely a lethargic version
of the once vital but oppressed
Miss, whose identification
was stolen by means of
unsolicited adversity.

The focus of this recanting
is to invite a perspective
that not only restores, but
aids in the teaching of other
shadow-selves, that to reassert
original nature is more than fair.

(A quirky rant for Reena’s Xploration challenge: a stolen identity ; and Eugi’s weekly prompt: shadows. Art my own)

Regrets

When love,
open-eyed
and uplifting
appeared

she shuddered,
withdrew,
Shame’s shadow
casting putrid
projections

fear and uncertainty
cloaked her, masked
desire as repulsion –
wore her tragedy
as identity – could not

make the leap –
would choose, instead,
a legacy of abuse –
reaffirming the guilt
and self-loathing

Never could forget
the time that love
showed up –
opened-eyed
and uplifting.

(VJ’s weekly Challenge is shadows)

Weighted Down

Weighted down.

I swallow rocks
to anchor this restlessness –
no exit available.

Would love to re-locate,
check self-assessment
into a sunnier place –
but the room is not ready.

I shove it back down –
am a silhouette
against stormy horizons.

My sister and I meet here,
at the edge of denial,
both seeking calmer waters –
she swims; I crave a shower

we are haunted in our sleep –
shadows clouding dreams –
projections of mermaid possibilities
and electric blue skies, dimmed

I gain ground, sifting
through basements, tossing
old ideals, reminiscing cynic;

she breaststrokes through debris
of family storms, ignoring the rubbish-
polluted pool, maintains motion

I am submerged, trying to work out
a relationship with father –
long since deceased, still present

have opened the contents
of our stored horror – no choice
but to carry on…

we are bit players in a staged drama –
no fame to add acclaim – just misguided
endings, fragile audiences, and
a sisters following
a different light

weighted down.

(Weighted Down first appeared here in September of 2016, and has stayed with me, begging to be revised.  Today, as I was playing around with images, I created this one (featured) and felt that it depicted the essence of the poem.   It was time.  I am also submitting this for V.J.’s weekly challenge:  shadows.)