Details |
Hope Armstrong Poem
I sometimes worry knowing poetry can be so subjective, you know
And yet, I still choose poetic verse to enounciate my story, but doing so I still worry
I choose poetry to mail my experiences through similes, imagery, and silliloquies but still I worry that the meaning of my words aren’t reaching
like the voices in your heads aren’t hearing my warnings
I’m calling. But i keep receiving. Voice mail.
It’s hard for me to differentiate poetry from the meaningless rhymes and word crimes In my haystack mind
Pricked by the cold, bitter sweet needle of reality
Revealed by the snitching blood of my poetry, sharp but not unexpected
It’s biology, a mystery. An art. A story.
Bitter sweet the sting until we realize it’s reality
Bringing light, to the colour of life and it’s futility
Im afraid to live because of my worry -
I’m afraid to speak because of my poetry -
It burdens my words, painted red with the blood of poetry witch flows in my veins unknowingly-
I bleed into the world but worry covers the stain.
Copyright © Hope Armstrong | Year Posted 2024
|
Details |
Hope Armstrong Poem
I don’t know who I’ve been today,
But I wish she’d come back-
Her confidence, astonishing
And her ability to live so weightlessly
I wish I had her airless capabilities-
Who was she again and why did she save me
From myself
I wished she was me even behind the scenes.
Copyright © Hope Armstrong | Year Posted 2024
|
Details |
Hope Armstrong Poem
Where is the moon,
Where is the sun,
My sky is dark and overrun-
When I look for the Stars
I’m blinded by sun,
When I look for the light
I’m lost by night,
Oh gratitude where art thou,
In my search for your hydration
All I find is drought-
Copyright © Hope Armstrong | Year Posted 2023
|
Details |
Hope Armstrong Poem
I used to live in a watch
I followed the movements of the screws and cogs
It isn’t till recently I broke out of that box
Now I live life untimed
Free from the rudementary
But without that who are we
Without purpose, movement or symmetry
Without the hand the face is lost
Now I’m a watch without batteries forever stoped
If only I were a sun clock, then my dependability would never stop
But a las I am not
I am not
But a faceless clock to a lost watch
Forever stoped
Copyright © Hope Armstrong | Year Posted 2024
|
Details |
Hope Armstrong Poem
Here I am in tears over a story that’s never affected me
Baggy eyes from a grief that’s never even mentioned me and yet my own griefs don’t frighten me-
I don’t cry over it, I got over it-
I cry for others but not for me
I’ve realized that I don’t deserve to cry over my grief
Because my grief has convinced me, it’s just a happy memory.
Copyright © Hope Armstrong | Year Posted 2024
|