Prose Poetry Stress Poems | Prose Poetry Poems About Stress

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Details | Prose Poetry |

I am SHE

I am 'SHE'. 
The form of Goddess 'Durga' & 'Laxmi', 
I used to be. 

But where the hell I'm today? 
Where in the search of 
my own identity, 
I have to pay. 
In this patriarchy, 
my soul has been killed 
& body has been groped. 
Each & every step outside 
has become exploit for me. 
Eyes scanning my body, 
& indecent remarks for me 
everywhere,I use to hear and see. 

I am languishing here, 
living with low spirits 
& fed up of my bug-bear. 
Of being raped & abducted, 
I always have the fear. 
I'm anguished in this milieu, 
sighing and sheding tears 
in the corner of my room. 
My regular nightmarish experiences 
made me to cry over my doom. 

More than chilly & pepper sprays, 
propriety in society will help me. 
And I'm waiting for 
that pleasant day when 
safety will go hand in hand with 'SHE'..   

Copyright © Hina Saxena | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry |


Gasping for air. . . you strain your neck; look around, checking.
Struggling to keep the pace. . . you're movements, fluctuating; you panic, you try floating.
Screaming for help. . .  no one is around, you wish for a miracle; you're wheezing, yelp not helping.
Giving, no one is reaching. . . the waves starting to bring you down; you fight, your Will diminishing.
Vanishing. . . your light dimming; They look from afar, will they notice you're drowning?

Copyright © Jesson Rata | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry |

Elimination of Stress and Strife in My Life

Broke the Rules...
Left some clues...
I'm a fool...
Living in a cesspool...

I hear the economy is bad...
And getting worse each day...
Although it hasn't affected me in any way..
I can even keep kosher if I choose.
So what do I have to lose ?...
I get three meals a day..
And sometimes a snack...
Clean clothes everyday I put on my back..
Exercise is a daily routine..
that I choose to do ..and it keeps me lean..
My quarters are small..but after all..
We have a room with a big color TV...
And a place for family and friends who visit me...
Healthcare ? not a problem you see..
As I don't pay for insurance like thee...
Problem with teeth...rectified
Education, Degree, I can even be Certified..
Because unlike you, who lives outside..
You need to work to survive...
Now I'm a part of the system you see..
And have it much easier than any of thee..
I broke the law and now pay the price...
But I'm still better off than your lousy life...
And when I'm released, I will qualify for...
Medicaid, Medicare and even more...
So you may have done it different than me...
But in "old age ", we're equal you see...

Copyright © kj force | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry |

No way out

We all know someone who has been depressed before.
We might have experienced depression ourselves. Being stressed out has become a integral part of life for many. Possibly we are withdrawn and feeling numb inside. Stress can be a result of many everyday occurrences. Financial problems, getting in debt or overextended, is a stressor most of us have shared with millions. The loss of a loved one, a marriage or breakup is a common stressor. A change in circumstances, an eviction notice or your home being foreclosed upon, car repossessed and homelessness have become commonplace as well. Going through bankruptcy, a pay cut, layoff at work or having to suspend further education due to lack of funds has touched many lives. These stressors are not rare but as a community we see them happening daily. Society as a whole expects us to just move on and deal with these ups and downs with little or no effect on our mental and physical well being. I specifically use these terms, because often this toll greatly effects the individual and then is ignored. As we take our health for granted and are ashamed of the stigma attached to any kind of mental health issue, we overlook the consequences of everyday stress.

Copyright © ANDREA TRAVIS | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry |

Reclusive Accountabilities

I am sick of excuses to avoid responsibility
and I am, today, sick with excuses to avoid responsibility
with "I'm just a mortal human. I make mistakes.
I judge situations and relationships,
assess potential risks to care and nourishing choices
badly sometimes."

I do. And so do you.

At the same time,
I applaud mutually transparent accountability
to always do our best,
to apply Golden Rules as broadly stretching out across time and species,
until no moment escapes our WinWin ecoconscious
to totally sharing accountability for
my/our judgments,
my/our relationships,
for both positives and negatives.
Yes to sharing accountability for my/our environments and cultural climates,
my/our days,
my/our generations,
my/our species,
my/our choices of entertainment and amusement,
my/our realities and imaginations,
my/our judiciary system,
my/our Police Officers
and attorneys
and judges
and potentially useful WinWin ecopolitical leaders
and, of course,
loving parents
co-mentoring breathing in
as breathing out together with both ears nondually co-arising Basic Attendance.

doing the best I can each moment,
mindful behavior choices
are nourished by low-stress environments,
and their wise and good-humored caretakers.

When law enforcement is culturally more important
than peace enforcement,
When the criminalization of humanity is culturally acceptable
ecopolitical harm through coldly-calculated bullying,
repressive intimidation,
then we are all entrapped in mutually-paranoid terrorism and LoseLose scenarios,
correctional strategies guaranteed to bring the worst possible outcomes
for everyone,
about which absolutely no one is really better than miserable.

Criminal-prejudice is no more politically, economically, ecologically healthy
than is racism.
In fact, for many U.S. people of color,
racism feels a whole lotta like presumption of abusive/neglectful criminal-intent.
Paranoia is this same presumption, writ large,
across our entire BusinessAsUsual cultural climate of pathology.

Peace enforcement
and the full balanced ecoconscious humanization of this species
require us to accept what we might see and hear
and feed ourselves,
in positive healthy ecopolitical days and nights
as positively incarnated Reality Shows
where everybody actually wins what they most need in the end,
or at least more than they had,
where there are no real losers needed to make a good wholesome story,
positive youtube videos are for every mind and body's WinWin future.

Law enforcement
and the nihilistic further commodification and criminalization of humanity
does not nourish well-rounded healthy regenerations
to build up who we ecotherapeutically are
and where we are headed together,
like cynical negative Reality Shows,
and sociopathic social media messages
of violence and mayhem begets more of same.

We have positive Selfies and social media stars
and there are also negatives.
But, we hope our political leaders
and police officers
and judicial systems
are feeding more on the positive
and not frothing at the mouth so much
in actively dissonant mistrusts of collective culturally degenerative paranoia.

We have a profound ecopolitical choice to make,
to invest in positive health assumptions of Golden Rule good faith
until proven otherwise,
not just strongly, prejudicially, and malignantly suspected,
and we too often invest in negative social and eco-political poor health choices,
news and interpreted events
as entertainments and grist for ruminating imaginations 
and then paranoid realities,
LoseLose pathologies,
absence of faith in a more integrative regenerative future.

We can choose to learn our way toward more robust Climate Health,
or go this other way, 
with armed humorless paranoids
disguised in peace officer uniforms,
really out to get themselves yet another victim
of their anger and disappointment with humanity's
lack of self-respect and responsibility,
including their own sometimes
when they really are not doing the best they can
in a struggling situation.
Or, are they?

Those who feast on negative media and gaming entertainments,
bad-environment choices,
maybe shouldn't take the lead on determining what is commercially-viable news
about challenging and suffering events and cultures
and religions,
and economic and political systems,
and ecological systems 
still gasping for more positive good-news health
and less sardonic nihilism,
and paranoia.

Responsibility meets our levels of accountability
for trust and empathy
and active listening and noticing possibilities to minimize victimization,
stealth and duplicity,
anger and fear,
mistrusts growing into raging distrustful paranoid hatreds
of individual magical fragile sacred people,
and families nurtured by and in and with Beloved Communities,
we have too often reduced to vocational labels
associated with diatribes of prejudicial disrespect,
not understanding victim-creators suffer too,
for what they do and what they have failed to do,
as how they are
in this too-toxic environment.

If you cannot find any compassion for your accusers,
your nay-sayers,
your deniers,
your bullies and fascists and terrorists
for their ridiculous LoseLose scenarios
begging for a good laugh,
rather than satirical character assassinations,
stepping out of WinWin hopes and faiths for health and help and hope,
then you are still looking
for how this that has happened to you
could move further toward WinWin ecopolitics,
more opportunities for health with less risk of pathology,
as am I,
while a paranoid white male Police Officer
continues shouting through my screen door
about my highly over-rated sense of shameless disregard for others.

Maybe he just needs more sleep,
better meds.
Who knows?
I wish they wouldn't let him out loose with a gun
by himself,
he's scaring me and my kids
with his humorless lack of hearing
and therefore compassion for others
who probably also could use more sleep,
more vacation,
less negative recreations.

Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck | Year Posted 2016

Details | Prose Poetry |

Crossing Through The Red Sea Undivided

The calm and quiet serenity embracing a string of fine buildings and a hypocritical weather which seems as if a quarrel manifested between the day and the night say it all as we enjoy the romantic stroll. Our aim is highly achieved if this was official, we would demand a certificate but the environment, our smiles, our love and our world are more than enough reward as we warm our souls and take the slow, gentle pace. the red flag was totally absent as we noticed many of them with tails unwag by-passing one, not knowing it is the scumbag began its vile its voice and energy much more than three angry wives on top of their nag. A drastic lag in our steps of royalty as my darling was taken over with gags. Then comes the full rage, attacks and great disdain to us. They were initially five; but now twelve. Creating a strategy by walking zigzag served fruitless and more like a drag as the voices of hell get even closer. making my wife scared as never before. Just one attack , can attract a deadly feast. Turning us into rags tearing us snag after snag and separating our flesh from body like a slag. That one bite, is now seconds closer with the lead intimidator showing its brag but 'the protector' being my tag; I turned swiftly and immediately going downwards and acting to take a weapon. Then the dozen of cowards impersonated Usain Bolt. 'That's my swag!" was the showing but in reality, I embraced my love passionately, thanking God for such a miracle with a skipping heart and a trembling body.

Copyright © Funom Makama | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry |

Why So Sad

Why So Sad?

Why do you look lonely, 
Bereft and so, so sad?
Has someone been quite nasty? 
Have you been really bad?

What lies beyond your haunted eyes,
Your melancholy stare?
Do you want to tell me what it is?
Do you want to take me there?

Your doleful gaze cements your face,
Your shoulders hanging low.
Do you want to tell me what it is?
Or would you prefer that I go?

I stand transfixed, absorbing your pain,
My breath is quick and light.
Do you want to tell me what it is?
What causes your terrible plight?

What demons grasp your very soul?
Why do they steal your smile?
Do you want to tell me what it is?
This cruel and evil bile.

Can you see through your vacant gaze?
Do you know that I am here?
Do you want to tell me what it is?
And explain what monsters are near?

What has sucked the life from you?
Who have you become?
Do you want to tell me what it is?
What nefarious deed has been done?

Copyright © Gaynor Morris | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry |

I Hope You Know I'll Always Love You

I am what you call a hopeless 
But im also a lost lovers cause, my 
heart belongs to another
Yet in my head a love triangle starts 
to form, the girl I love doesn’t love 
She holds the heart to another and 
mine caged to the floor,
She isn’t afraid to fight for what she 
wants, not even when it comes to 
leaving another man torn
Trust me she’s happy, as that boy 
holds her heart ever so close
Seeing what I shouldn’t I smile as I 
wear my blind fold,
Blind to everything around, lifeless 
staring into air
My train of thought running so fast, 
the second I stop you’ll hear a crash
Derailing my hope, for ever finding a 
love so pure & rare
Wishing I could hold the hand of the 
lover who stole my flame,
Wish I could change the last days in 
which we parted ways,
Realizing now that we can never be 
the same
Finally saying it out loud as tears run 
down my face
You stole my happiness, as I walked 
away that day
But it’s because as of what you said 
I guessed I changed,
Now every relationship has just be 
the same,
No one can seem to bring back that 
Because a love likes ours comes 
once in a lifetime
Well at least it does to me,
But I mean you’re happy with who 
your with 
I mean I only wrote this as I heard 
exchanging “I love you” flow from 
each of your lips.

Copyright © Mark Ramon | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry |

lost trust

You don't think am trust worth
Since someone jealousy to told you a lie
So that we separated and they should have a chance
I didn't do wrong at all people are just jealousy

You might loose trust in me
But for me I know I still trust you
Don't ever listen to people who tell a lie
The job is to just destroy our engagement

You think I cheating on you
But I didn't instead I loved you
Even my heart still claim you
Although you don't want to talk to me
At least try to remember me
Since its all about you and me
Although someone jealousy make you not believe in me
I wont stop until you live with me
And be forever with me

Copyright © tanaka chirombo | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry |

Garden Club Ruse Finality part 2

The years passed, things never did get better..
Her Garden Club was the only thing that held her together
The mental abuse had taken it’s toll...
As far as he was concerned he owned her soul..
She now felt she had no recourse..
And decided she had to find a source..
To end this life as she knew it..
And move on without the commitment...
It was a Friday one cold winter day..
He told her he was going to Vegas to play..
But we have no money, you said yesterday..
No, YOU !  have no money he said and...
I wish you were dead...
He had bragged for years, this day would come
When he would choose another one..
But before I leave...he had a request..
Make me my favorite dinner...for me and a guest
She is younger than you and oh what a catch..
So she went to the freezer to find and fetch..
A suitable roast for he and his guest...
She found just the right thing for his favorite meal..
A large leg of lamb, or was it Veal ?
It was heavy, about twenty pounds she thought...
What was I thinking when this was bought ?
Back in the kitchen, he was still raving...
About how useless this marriage was of saving...
I really don’t care what happens to you...
But I’ll see you get nothing, not even a shoe...
With that she swung the 20 pound roast...
It smashed in his skull, he was dead right away...
Oh my, she said, what a way to start the day...
She grabbed the roast and put it in a pan...
And began to figure out a plan... of what to do with this man...
She thought for a moment and remembered the strife..
That went with her ordering that “ Ginzu “ knife...
It was a TV offer she couldn’t pass up, never needed sharpening....
 and cut thru bone..order one now and get one free..
It was the first and last time she used the credit card and that was in 1963.
The knife worked well, she thought , now that was a bargain
Placed the parts in a bag and headed for the garden...
Body parts were buried in the dirt..
And she smiled upon the burning of her shirt..
She took the roast to her Garden Club meeting..
It was a special event and guess who was speaking ?
The Chief of Police and his subject was on spousal beating..
And by the way he said he would like the recipe for his wife..
The weeks went by, she was happy everyday...
 And then it happened, is was the first of May..
 The big event she had waited for all year..
 Her entry of the “ *Amorphophallus Titanum “...
 Oh how proud she was...when awarded top prize..
 A very rare plant, said the Judge...and has a very weird odor..
And it’s not very a matter of fact
 It smells like rotting meat , said another, sorta sour.
Which is why said the’s commonly called the ...* Corpse Flower..

 * Native to the rainforest, flowers are rare and if it blooms,
Is one of approximately 140 recorded in history...
Most recently on display in New York City in 2012...

Copyright © kj force | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry |

Stroke Induced

The over compensation of one sense 
over another
the way a blind man sees insight
more clearly 
or how a mother chooses a son 
over her brother 

Trying to describe disability in five seconds or less
the sixth second, I was blessed
It was as if I climbed out of my body &
 into my mind and I began kicking around my own furniture. Arrested for
violating my own restraining order.
I'd cry, if only I'd let me.
I went to war with myself 
Had the speech choked out of me
like a foreign object had entered my body
and drew hieroglyphics on me
 in Egyptian fashion.
I did not recognize 
my alienness.
DNA corrupted 
like a woman who scribbles 
“Sorry! Couldn't stay,” with
Lipstick on a mirror.
I'd scream, If only I would let me.
Suddenly, I became aware 
how strength is just a metaphor so
I prayed some more.
"If only" somehow let loose 
And with a rush of emotion 
I began hearing myself talk to God
as if I was operating on my own
contradictions. Cutting into my appendages,
I recognized why elitists have a mentality of  savagery.
You've got to give a little to get a little
instead of just giving.
All of a sudden my prayer sounded Hindu in nature. Chanting for favor.

My body can never describe all that 
goes on inside, but if you look close
you can ascertain the sum of all my fears. 
Eventually, even Morgan Freeman 
Touch me, and I'll cry two tears;
If only, I let myself loose. 
My life, stroke induced.

Copyright © TS Lewis | Year Posted 2016

Details | Prose Poetry |

Stress of Adolescence

Adults believes young adolescents have nothing to worry about,
Youth is their calling card and it is enough to get them through,
In regards to their everyday reality,
Older adults don't have a clue,
They are oblivious to their battles,
Drugs, disease, pregnancy and molestations,
From these nightmares there are no vacations,
They are stressed out and under pressure,
Some Teens can't bear the struggle,
So they snap and get into trouble,
because everyone thinks their lives
are happy-go-lucky and stress free,
When the truth is.....,
Their avant garde behavior screams,
"Will someone please listen to me!!!!"

Copyright © Margeret Bailey | Year Posted 2010

Details | Prose Poetry |

A light in the dark

You are a light in the dark

the shadows follow but Your

love stands inside to keep me holding

Your hand so wide.

You are a light in the dark

it's scary out here in the

deep wide world that's not my home,

but Your love holds onto my heart

deep inside we never depart.

Your a light in the dark

when I feel so alone

You take hold of the inner parts

deep in my soul.

Oh Lord, how I long to be home,

YOUR my true light in the dark.

Written By:©Betty Bolden

Copyright © Betty Bolden | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry |

Automated World

Poet:  Ken Jordan
Poem:  Automated World
Edited by:  Sparkle Jordan
written:  January/2015

you've reached 
automated phone 
system -

Please listen
the following

For our
menu has changed -

* Be advised, 
all calls 
recording :

For English press 1
For Spanish press 2
For all other languages
press 3

*If you know 
party's extension,

may dial it 
anytime -

with an operator, 
press 0 

For hours 
press 4

For holiday hours 
of operation
press 5

For benefits 
press 6, 
the pound sign -

All other inquiry's, 
please remain on the line, 
a company advisor  
take your call shortly -

* Due to high volume phone calls,
estimated wait time
thirty minutes.

For faster service, 
go to 
Web site -

To repeat

press 7 

the pound
sign -

Copyright © Ken Jordan | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry |

Dear Depression

Dear depression,
You laid with me into the late hours of the night
Filled my mind with toxic thoughts, right until the sunlight
You sharply caressed both wrists, leaving your mark 
Felt as though all that was left was the dark
You manipulated my mind to think everyone will leave 
That all I'd be left with was you, was that what you wanted to achieve?
You were there when my enemies stripped me from my innocence
Left me with your presence and was trapped ever since
You got jealous of my friends and those close to me 
Saying "How could they love you? You know how absurd that would be?"
At the hands of a ghost you threw words at me shaped like rocks
Suffocating me in as if I had installed locks. 
You made me swallow pills so that sleep could swallow me 
In hopes that my bed would swallow my sadness as if that were the key

Dear depression,
Our first few days were really quite okay 
You'd hold me captive in my room right until the very next day
Others had told me that it was just a phase 
That everything would be okay, as it usually was anyway
But you become malicious. Wicked. Venomous 
Like a parasite feasting off my happiness
You built prison bars out of the very walls of my room
Concealed the light with thoughts of an unspeakable doom
You made a home beneath my skin, constructed my lungs and invaded my mind
Allowed yourself in filled me with misery, torment and all pain combined 

Dear depression,
I beg you. Please please give me a break, haven't you defeated me enough already?
You've weakened my strength and tossed me in a state of being terribly unsteady
You forced me to exist but prevented me to live
Yet a view outside my window was all that you could give

Dear depression,
I'm getting really sick of having you around
Being trapped between four walls and most days; even bed bound
Today is the day where it will be me who defeats you
Mark my words, today will be the day of that mighty breath through
Your attempts to rid me from this world, to have me say my final goodbyes
"Oh but you're better off dead" Come on depression, you don't really think I'd believe those lies?

Dear depression, 
Your services are no longer required 
You've stuck around long enough, aren't you getting tired?
Time to move on and let me be
I've got so much in store, you just wait and see
Depression, you have finally been dismissed
But don't hold your breath, you won't be missed.

Copyright © Chelsea Gonthier | Year Posted 2017

Details | Prose Poetry |

Sailor and I

Spiraling sensations of heightened instability cascade through an unsuspecting conscience, a chaotic whirlpool engulfs the psyche in seas of self inflicted torment and despair, illogically intertwined with fleeting moments of delusions, escape and grandeur, torn between everything that is and is not, what once was, what never was, what once was elsewhere, and what lies in the distance unknown. 

Desires to vacate this epoch of mundane existence without immediate destination permeate through every pore, confined by the all encompassing wet suit of societal boundaries, perilously trapped, craving comforts of previous experience like a stranded sailor anxiously await sight of land, and the utopian vision an uncertain future, devoid of realistic premise.

Disparate from islands and coastlines imprinted upon atlas, the past is a destination left unvisited save for flickering images, memories sewn into the fabric of the psyche. The vessel of the mind gives way to leaks, the images trickle into the recesses of one's inner thoughts, a barely perceptible drip, progressing into an uncontrollable flood of psychosis, the struggling vessel begins to capsize, obsession establishes itself as the dominant state of mind. 

One‘s future, an unwritten infinite epilogue to the present, reminiscent of the empty pages in a captain's log documenting this doomed voyage, once expected to be filled with tales of riches and feats of exploration but now submerged in a cold and murky existence awaiting to be pulled from the abyss. 

Expectations and desires succumb to the realities of circumstance as the mind concedes certain defeat, a casualty of pre entitlement and wishful thinking, a drowning sailor whose final thoughts establish the realization that the ambitions of the soul often exceed the limitations of the body.

Copyright © Brian Franchi | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry |

No More Kanswer

Screaming loud awakening the neighbors
Shouting like a drunkard in the village bars
Calling for help
Sleepless night it seems
And the following morning she only has kanswer

She never got any pleasure
Agony was a best friend
There was no home to treasure
Sadness was part of the lafamilia
But she still had kanswer

She knew not english
She knew not mathematics
But she knew homescience
How to cook and fetch water
But she still  had kanswer

I hate kanswers
When men are oppressed
It's a tragedy
When women are oppressed
It's a tradition
But we sit back and give kanswer

Kanswers kill slowly like cancer
I am an African woman
I say no more kanswer
I now have a stop answer
Because I am an African Girl

Copyright © Faith Simotwo | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry |

Stumbling With Fear

Shocked with an enormous feeling that cannot be shaken with just a tear of emotions
Conquering methods that was absolutely profane and cannot be sorted in any eyes
Lost in thought, and drowning into the abyss that so undeniably unforgettable
Stirs the life that was so suddenly lost to suddenly appear with grief and fear
Looking for the trust that fell when trying to reach the end of your journey
Scraped and scars that cannot heal, but when it does heal it peals again
So when suddenly face with fear 
A sudden stumble with weak knees creates the shakes
This is Stumbling with Fear

Copyright © Reynaldo Mast | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry |

Short Sweet and to the Point

I decided to try and catch my stress with a net that I used to catch my tropical aquarium fish, but that didn’t work.  So I tried a different strategy using a glass full of Gin but that didn’t work either. So I got creative and used an early afternoon nap to try and dim my thinking, but that inspired my imagination to dream about all the things I did wrong.  Then I got creative and wrote a mental story about a Grasshopper who came into our garden to have fun with the flowers and got really stressed out when he saw our patio umbrella swaying in the wind. That’s when I realized that stress is like a mirror that reflects all the things that we fear.

Copyright © Howard Dion | Year Posted 2016

Details | Prose Poetry |


its not just for 
so stay alerk
and it works
no doudt
it reaches
when its fixs 
get it quick
just  call

Copyright © kurtis scott aka curtis futch jr | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry |

one more pill to help me chill

Like Alice in Wonderland I roam the desert of my mind trying to find a way out 
Every day I reinvent myself wondering whether or not to take the next stand
I keep seeking another line a better design a brand name 
Imbibing the sands of time 
I become restless longing for success, 
I confess, it came to possess me, I digress
I used to be somebody, now I’m someone else
It boils down to our animal instincts, survive and thrive
Reassessing my past I contrive to start anew
The meaning we attribute to things is what 
gives them power over us
A universal bower, a tower of confidence
It’s a matter of perspective – 
Our entire planet is like this
Alice absorbs me perhaps another pill will cure my ills
Lusting on the edge of a consonant, 
I meander through adverbs synonyms and antonyms 
It’s a fucking weird word disaster
I dig my heels in deep, trying to steep my words in a heap before I leap
Instead my words are torrential - existential - tangential
They move me
Treading through river recesses of despair 
to find the answer 
but it just aint fair, they don’t care, 
they’re hateful of our flair 
I dare to emerge, 
I don’t want to submerge 
On the verge of a nervous breakdown, 
I merge into another artistic urge with a surge of energy
Sunk in a funk in another God forsaken mess 
I process the stress 
The excess of the day wears heavy 
Don’t transgress the finesse of the noblesse
I speak in riddles and rhymes to observe the times
Thunder explodes 
A hazy curtain of rain splashes the pavement 
Soaks my clothes through to my skin 
As I begin another spin

Copyright © Joy Leftow | Year Posted 2017

Details | Prose Poetry |


My body, 
	ripe for the taking,
	filled with shames voice.
Plunged into the fiery depths of self mutilation.
My sense of self lashes out, and when threatened, 
	curls inwards to my very core.
The stress creeps upwards,
	as if failing to reach the freedom of a hill top
	filled with weeping willows,
	that sway with the loaded failures of my past.
Disintegration comes when I buckle under
	the stress of reliving these failures.
My shoulders pull back and settle into my body
	opening up vessels of hope.
I take one step at a time 
	as if walking the line of steadiness.

Copyright © Elizabeth Hipwell | Year Posted 2010