I've unearthed volumes of poetry since digging up old diaries for the YA novel I'm working on. Many of the poems are in (desperate) need of editing. I've wanted to share a few for awhile. But I was scared. The poems below were written in the 1990's.
I always write when I feel alone,
Inside my mind, there is a home.
The stories or levels, the steps the stairs, an attic holds you unawares.
What lurks inside those shadowy places? I never really see the faces.
Creating through thought and creating despair. I see you with others and try not to compare. Maybe it was the words we said. Or the hopes we shared. This caused my head to believe you cared. Childish, I know in my head, but my heart will pretend, and go till the end.
If it’s silence we want why create tears? In the hearts of millions a thoroughfare of fears, collapse under wishes unreceived, no need for greed.
Cast away the mask one wears to cover, the face of hate not shared by another.
That chain you
Your little finger
Leave me to the heights
I’ll move aside