My Poetry Challenge, Week Two

 Another week of poems! I've been trying to experiment with different styles, which has been interesting.

Day 8: "Angry"

a broken spatula

 a roaring in my ears

  everything is too loud

   severed lines

    i can't find the constellation linking us

     screaming at a train in the snow

      devastation

     a warning sign i'm being used

    a loving note from my body to my brain

   a fierce liberation

  lines drawn around me in ink instead of pencil

 relief that i was right

salvation

Day 9: "Trapped"

I fear

the snare

the bloodied

leg and big red drops

I leave 

in the snow.

I fear the tedium

of life too afraid

to gnaw off my leg

and bound, three-legged,

free.

Day 10: "Mushroom"

I've understood

the meaning of life is not to dabble

in a meaningless scrabble

for success;

it's best

to spread invisible strings

of mycelium, things

that others can't see

till you're bursting free

through leaf mould and earth—

rebirth

from a mycorrhizal womb:

mushroom.

Day 11: "Elite"

There once was a house built of rubble

that sneered at the others in trouble.

"You fools will not be

as successful as me!"

the house cried from its comfortable bubble.

Day 12: "Spiral"

Jenga blocks in a coil on the rug

lined up on their ends, color-coded and precarious:

a tip of one block, and the line cascades down 

like a zipper undone,

like the shell of a snail.

"Again, Papa!" he cries and claps his hands.

"Please, Papa, I want a spiral!"

Day 13: "Rebel"

I want to color outside the lines

in other lines I've drawn for myself:

the pencil-marks of careful thought

to set me apart— but not too much.

.

I want to wear my raggedy clothes

with hand-stitched patch and enamel pins,

no make-up on, my hair untouched

to set me apart— but not too much.

.

I want to sing my songs aloud

in empty halls, and take big strides

and stand to looming height in heels

to set me apart— but not too much.

.

I want to dance and write and sing

and throw ambition out the door,

to carve a life of joy and art

to set me apart— but not too much.

.

I don't know what it means to be 

unbridled, careless, open, free;

my every thought is wrapped around

the status quo, and how I want

to break it in half or stick close by

its rigid rules, its loud decrees—

until I feel my whole life is

just a reaction. It's not me.

.

I want to breathe the open air

and let myself be what I'll be;

to live on purpose, not in response;

to live as I will— as much as I want.

.

Comparing thoughts, leave me untouched:

set me apart (but not too much).

Day 14: "Potential"

I'm haunted by what

I think could be:

the virtuoso,

the better me.

The instant genius,

passing each bar,

master of all trades,

shining star.

But maybe it's fine

to just have fun,

ignore the shadows,

look to the sun.

Let fall the shackles

of what might be;

jack of all trades,

just plain me.