Poem #114

I need one hell of a story.
One hell of a love story.
I need it to be wild, irresponsible,
spontaneous, unpredictable.
I guess poets sometimes just can’t
settle for normal, settle for settling.

I don’t need it to be perfect, I need
it to be real in all of its flaws.
I need the screaming and the kissing
and the crying and the late night heavy breathing.

I need one hell of a story.
One hell of a love story to become my
ink, my inspiration, my new poem collection
because love without verses is such an ordinary
sad, sad feeling.

 

Put your own oxygen mask

In the past few months my life went from comfortable to everything I thought it will never be. In just a few short months I got my Bachelor’s, got into grad school, dropped out, came home after three years of living alone and became a waitress collecting her tuition fee for a private university. That’s a lot to happen in a few months.

Since the day I started to realize I was unhappy about my life, while I was still at my university, I encountered a big problem I used to struggle with as a kid while my abusive father was living with us. My panic attacks were back. It was overwhelming. It was scary. It was also a big, fucking neon sign that said “GET OUT!”.

In these few months I realized the importance of one very simple sentence everyone heard if they were ever on a plane (I was actually never on a plane). The sentence goes: First put your own oxygen mask.

There is so much meaning in this sentence and I guess I, myself, had to go through a bunch of problems, get my panic attacks again to realize I have chosen to take that oxygen mask off and deprive myself of air for so long. I was completely neglecting myself just to make everyone else happy and maintain a certain image about myself because I thought and was taught all my life that I had to do everything to come off as a well put-together person. I was also taught that a university degree is the only road to success, that other peoples’ opinions matter the most etc. I was force fed a lot of bullshit through my life and I am here to tell you to slap that damn oxygen mask on your face.

Stop suffocating yourself and stop making yourself small in order to fit in with some worthless standards our societies and upbringing have made us follow. If you are not happy with yourself, not only are you hurting yourself but you are hurting the people who care about you. When you are in a bad place in your life for a longer period of time you can’t be the person, child, mother, sister, worker, friend, girlfriend, boyfriend that you actually want to be. If you don’t take care of yourself first, you won’t be able to take care of anyone else or make anyone else happy.

Also, if you sacrifice your happiness and wellbeing to make others happy and satisfied with time you will start to resent them and blame them for your own unhappiness. Let me just get this clear. It’s not their damn fault, it’s yours and you need to own up to your mistakes. It was your choice to sacrifice your mental health to make someone else happy. Don’t drown yourself in sorrow now – TAKE ACTION!

Get yourself out of that dark place, find your oxygen mask and put it on. It’s not selfish, it’s necessary. Make yourself the person you want to be so that you could be the person people you care about need. Put yourself first and, I can’t stress this out enough, that is not selfish. Your happiness and mental health are just as important as everyone else’s and it depends on you.

To repeat again (I feel like a parrot): First, put your own oxygen mask!

Undraping

This lovely post was actually a comment made by Poet of the Light under my post I found a typewriter! I was so amazed and overwhelmed with this that I just wanted to share it with all of you. It really got to me because it includes my story of coming home and finding this typewriter… Poet of the Light just hit the nail on the head. I honestly hope Poet of the Light isn’t upset I’m publishing this.

Make sure to check out his blog: https://poetofthelight.com/

Here it goes:

She secretly wore doubts of her choice to return the home of her mother the way any battle ridden warrior does when going back to familiar landscape, the touch of yesterday’s long missed memories and even the conversation over a home cooked meal by Mama. Life can be funny that way, with its secret ingredients found nowhere else. It had been nearly a month when her eyes finally caught site of that- most peculiar contraption sitting off to the side. It was as if the universe rippled in correction, the kind most don’t even notice. One could pose the argument; it was as if destiny was at play here, and that typewriter had been waiting- in silence all this time like a shooting star waiting to be infused with life, life that could only be bestowed from Luna’s fingerprint. Much the way small young girl dreams of being saved by a handsome prince and kissing her back to life; that typewriter certainly could be said to have played the same role, as her dashing prince, except she was the savior and the lost soul and sleeping heart- was her own…damaged by an unwritten travesty. All she had to do was remove the undersize cloth somewhat protecting it from ghostly cobweb collection.

After cleaning it up and preparing it for the test, transformion of old dry stale air into a flow of beautiful inked words- suddenly permeated the surroundings of her essence as she began pouring out her heart, her subdued feelings and long hidden dreams. Only she could read her words on invisible paper taking down all she stroked. Every torn scar on her heart slowly disappearing from her divine heart and her memory as time was erasing her unwanted pain. The sounds of the key strokes striking parchment was a symphony written an eon before her birth and even time itself had to wait until that angelic touch from the soul of Luna infused life and color to each phrase, each word- every single letter. Every typed mistake was planned as part of this written marvel, as too was every tearful correction, making it her life renewed in fluid motion.

Luna was meant to find that antiquated collection of steel that collected dust of past darken hours, that still worked like some enchanted time machine taking Luna herself back to the old Luna of yesteryear, that same Luna born with mystery and magical hope alive and well in her eyes as her heart pumped out love that like the ink scent adrift in the room where she can be heard clacking away secrets for the universe to bequest and unfold at the promise of every new dawn morning like every virginal flower bursting in a bathe of dew. The kind of secret love recipes Mam’s cook, that changes the world for the betterment. Oh- how I dream to be reborn as her parchment and flooded with the love of…Luna’s ink.

Poem #108

I’ve trained my body to function with
only four hours of sleep at night.
I’ve trained my heart to let everything
go through verses scribbled in my notebook.
I’ve trained my feelings to go on
lockdown when they sense danger.
But still, I’m unable to train my mind to stop
reminding me that who I am and who I swore
I’ll be are fading away with each passing year.

Luna

Luna is you,

Luna is me,
Luna’s the white glint
Rolling over
The endless
Blackened sea.

It’s an equinox,
But also
A state of mind.

It’s a tranquil place
Where craterface
No longer
Is a derogatory expression.

Be a
Luna rock,
If you choose.

They’re light
And supple,
Free of
Weighted constraint.

My name is Eric, I’ve been writing seriously for about three years and have only recently gotten addicted to poetry (both writing and reading.). I’m the author of The Dioramist, a mid-twenties coming of age story about a writer who has lost faith in the defining on again/off again relationship of his life.  He struggles finding a balancing point for his passions, work, and love life.  I also have a debut poetry book coming out next week titled Strange Cars in the Night.

The link to my Word Press is: https://blankpagesofmine.wordpress.com
I am also on Instagram (blankpagesofmine) and Twitter (ekeegs815).

If you would like to have your work published in The Poetry Bar send your poem, a few words about yourself and the link to your blog to the e-mail poetrybar1@gmail.com 

Poem #105

You power was to leave me speechless
and I never knew that could happen.
I write about pain and despair, it’s what
keeps my verses flowing but you came
and kissed all those words away.

Is this silence what happiness sounds like?
Winter air, smell of snow in the night,
your arms around me in an empty street.
I guess I need new words to describe this.

Poem #104

You were just good with words, talked your
way out of everything, but with your back
against the wall you crumbled like a scared
child. With me knowing what you did, words
that got you into that mess couldn’t get you out.

It became easy to leave you after I had
realized you weren’t the hero I needed.
I was, all along.