Below is the poem entitled Me which was written by poet
Bell. Please feel free to comment on this poem. However, please remember, PoetrySoup is a place of encouragement and growth.
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I understand the hearts of romantics,
The rapture of their words written on a blank piece of paper
Wrapped in pink ribbon to send to a lover
who only existed in the throes of imaginary adventure.
How the girl with the tattered spirit like a moth-infested closet
Sprouted wings in a butterfly-like metamorphosis
Only to find a hole in the dusted wings that sent her sailing to the floor in a
frightening free-fall only followed by her teardrops.
How she dusted her knees and asked the teddy bear to kiss it better who only answered her
with the silent glint in his button eye.
How she patched herself up and continued flight.
How she broke her knees and heart in repetitiveness.
in a love unrequited.
I am the girl, I suffered, I mended.
The silent crisis deafening the city,
The boy with a glass pipe in his hand for an easy thrill
lying in his own vomit across the street,
The grandmother weeping in the coldest room for hope and a time without need and addiction
with a window seat to the neighboring event.
I am the boy that chases the dragon with a fearless anticipation,
Ignorant to the addiction that chews at my brain and teeth,
I scratch at the deposits in my arms and legs with a compulsive uneasiness
to put on the sober face.
I fall on my knees in church,
Swear I believe in God and the Holy Ghost,
Pray to Jesus when it's unbearable,
Beg for the redemption of my fifteen year old soul because I know that my sins will reduce me
to the burning pyre.
Adaptation, addiction abstinence, and absolution are all part of me,
I ask not of what the addict needs, for I become his heroin
in his time of relapse,
My cravings turn to pity for the men in withdrawal.
Beaming bright and beautiful,
My wings glow with the illumination that Mother graced me with long ago that I never
I am the warrior standing at the podium with words as my only ammo,
Facing my biggest fear.
Again the stares of inferiority.
Again the whispered thoughts against me.
Again the prejudice.
The knowledge overflows my being of terms I never analyzed completely,
An analysis of my inferiority to the people gazing at me with glazed eyes and polite smiles,
The understanding that wealth is the status quo as I stand in my old clothes and shoes,
I have nothing better to do than feel uplifted.
Again, the knowledge bubbles up in an outlet of laughter as it soars through my spirit
like a lighthouse's beam
over the ocean.
They may be wealthy, but I am far richer.