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Darla Tegtmeier Poem
Joyous Anguish
My heart cracks open with joyous anguish again and again
Feeling cheated for never being given the chance to see
If we could grow, evolve into something more.
You had us in a box, like a flower in a pot, we never had a chance
To grow wild and free, unrestricted by your hearts restrictions.
I stand with my heart in my hands, bleeding aguish and pain.
Yet to see you happy with your love, I feel true joy.
For in this, I don’t matter. You are happy, that is what matters.
Copyright © Darla Tegtmeier | Year Posted 2018
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Darla Tegtmeier Poem
Me
I am not the me I see in me. Looking inward always striving, always critiquing harshly my short comings, my faults, my every action and reactions. Seeing a heart full of scares and the never ending addition of new cracks. Striving to be the me I see inside me, wondering how such a broken me could ever be the me I see inside me.
The constant bombardment of the feelings of others, putting me aside to help as best I can. I am here to serve, and help to heal. Do I do this only from the heart and soul or do I do this as a distraction to help me forget, for a little while, that I am not the me I see in me.
Copyright © Darla Tegtmeier | Year Posted 2018
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Darla Tegtmeier Poem
The holding, the hiding one's self inside oneself. No one to see the scars behind the smile. Words of platitudes and gratitudes.
Keep it all hidden, the silently cracking heart. Let all believe it was what is was when in fact, inside one's self it still is.
Let the ice come in and numb the pain so no one will know the heart's suffering.
No hope left but still there is hope inside one's self. To say hope breeds suffering is true. But by any other name, waiting, wanting, holding space, is, still, hope. So one plays with words in folly to cover the suffering. But one's self still silently suffers inside oneself.
Copyright © Darla Tegtmeier | Year Posted 2018
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Darla Tegtmeier Poem
The heart feels what it feels, wants what it wants. The mind can tell the heart no, but the heart being ever hopeful still wants what it wants. It can fool the mind, for a while, into believing what it wants is real. What is truly real will be revealed. The heart then breaks, the delusion bleeding forth in waves of grief. "Foolish heart", says the mind, " how, why, do you grieve something that never was?". But the heart grieves on. The delusion now bled out, it is left broken, empty, missing the unreal. Foolish foolish heart. Time to start the slow painful journey back to real.
Copyright © Darla Tegtmeier | Year Posted 2018
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