Details |
Sara Jama Poem
Poetry knows my name, haunting me throughout the silence of the night,
Culling me into a false sense of warmth and security,
Here, take this poisoned quill, it whispers,
Fill the ink bottle with your tears and blood,
Scribble all that pain upon this leathered parchment,
Every letter reverberating from my frayed nerves.
Bloodshot eyes from countless sleepless days,
With each exhalation, I can feel the life slowly begin to leave my weary body.
Record the past traumas one last time,
Write, erase, rewrite, until I get every meticulous detail right.
Don’t want to suffer these injustices for an eternity,
Purge the bitter acid from the pit of my stomach,
Cleanse the narcissistic abuse from my waking nightmares,
Feverishly fill saline soaked book after book,
Until the final microscopic breath leaves this shaking body,
Place the quill between ground down teeth, bite down and swallow the poison,
Concluding the closing chapter of this misguided, maddening existence.
Copyright © Sara Jama | Year Posted 2023
|
Details |
Sara Jama Poem
As the rain trickles down the cracks of my stained oak casket
And it stains the fabric of my tattered shirt with the crimson paint they placed upon my lips
The shifting of dirt can be heard in my worm infested ears
As the skin on my thighs is being eaten away from the wood beatles
My spirit hovers above this nightmarish scene
Broken tombstone and twisted roses cover my name
Once spoken from your tongue, now just a whisper in the wind
Can you even remember the words that dripped from my trauma fueled pens
Or have they turned to ash like my sins that were thrown into the pyre
Choking on putrid soot as you lowered haphazard memories into the barren ground
Darkness can be so blinding, don't you see now
All those insomniac nights and breathless days
Gripped by panic attacks and mind numbing depression
I screamed, pleaded, wept for longing
Just to be understood, as I got on my cracking knees
Praying with bloodshot eyes for an ounce of peace
I can't breathe, lungs swelling, tears cascading likes waterfalls down my sunken face
But you refused to see the girl breaking inside this woman, invisible scars ripping open
A spiritual bloodletting
Now the final chapter can not be undone as the bell no longer tolls for a lost soul among the deaf.
Copyright © Sara Jama | Year Posted 2023
|