Okay, seriously.
Did no one miss me?
Or was I gone so long that no one remembers
That I almost died
And carved words into paper for you
Almost daily,
And I suffered the equisite pain of a poet
Who simply cannot.
Can't think, can't breathe
Can't incise her own porcelain skin any more
But who's very being
Writhes in agony
Too full of words, pressurized too long-
And now they spew into being
Vomit poetry, you might say:
Absolutely worthless, with a bitter aftertaste.
But I remember when the words were sweet
And I could manipulate syllables
Ringing sweetly as guitar strings
And there they were:
Encouraging comments from minds who knew me.
They had never seen my face but they new me,
And I suppose imagined they loved me, but
The world, as it were, has moved on without me.
Maybe they all have skill-cancer
Dramatically developing in unfair, unpredictable ways
But today I'm coming home to a family reunion
And nobody knows my name, and worse
I don't know anyone at the table.
My family is dead, and the replacements, well
They'll never love me, so
My homecoming has turned into an insulting depart
And as I watch the girl at my seat at the table
Be welcomed home from many years abroad
I know I am no longer elite.
But out of longing for someone to chase after me,
Shouting my name,
I won't bother to lock the door on my way out. |
Submission Name: Homecoming
