Atrophy

Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue...My first four posts will follow that template. I begin with something old. Atrophy was not the first poem I wrote, but it was the one which freed me creatively. This simple piece marks the point in tenth grade, during Christmas break in 1991, when I decided to give myself license to be fully open to the creative process no matter what it might cost me. On its own it might not be a great piece, I don't know, but it is the piece which enabled the writing of every other piece that came after. I have often read it as the wine bottle across the hull of a virgin open mike, so I find it only fitting that I do so again here. This is "Atrophy"...

Of what I’ve said

And what I feel

So full of pain

When nothing’s real

Looking down

Upon myself with contempt

I live in sorrow

I walk in anguish

As the night comes

To forgive my sins

It is enthralled

By the blinding cry of agony

For I cannot let out

What I will not let in.