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ello, I’m mar. I like to write about poetry & I'm wishing I could share some of my poems to you. :)

"Morning" written by mar???



I feel alone.

In my own world

Where it never felt home,

Behind the firewall

Is a prison I pass by

Down the hall is the door

That will pull me towards,

A ceiling where I placed

My thoughts about.

A place where I hide my thoughts

That is mimicking my memories

That are being loud

Fighting the stars above

For a spot in the sky

To look so high

And when I look at it,

I could smile.

This morning I rose to my head thumping, back achingly sore, and brain misty. I remember the night before, I said goodnight, and I stared at the ceiling, sorting my feelings outafter a late conversation. I stare and stare and stare hoping and wishing that these emotions would go away. That please I want to stop hurting. I was thinking how do I banish my nightmares, maybe thinking I deserved them after all, I did something wrong, whatever that could be, I did it and now I have to payfor it.

Then suddenly, the ceiling comes closer and closer. Breathing down my neck, trying to tie me up with my chase of breath. Its white cracks, paint chipping, lights flickering, all become accustomed to my face that it is just like it. It's a mockery of the secrets I trusted it with. Mocking me because I'm broken, decaying, soft, weak, and because I'm tired. The cobwebs now accompanies me in my sleep, though the spiders don't ever visit me. Perhaps, the ceiling is too thick and to nearly touching the floor, only me parting it so it won't crash and myself will roar in contentment if that means I'am free from this prison, or maybe it is because I'am meant to be here left alone.

That morning,

I woke to an empty bed

In a limped body

With cold hands and feet

And with very vague memories

Of yersterday

Or the day before

Three minutes from before

Four hours gone from that day

Five days missing

Sixth days since

Or the Seventh,

Still missing.

On the twenty-four hour period, I gave up crawling out under the ceiling. I stopped thinking the times I was sad, the ones where I looked helpless, and the ones I hurt myself more. I'm squashed between my thoughts and my nightmares, letting them push me to the ground on my knees, begging, to take me out of my misery. From pain and frustration and anger.That day after, the grip on my neck tightens, suffocating me to sleep.

I'am missing.

Since I fell asleep,

I missed my chance of happiness

My chance to finally rest

I'm missing from the days I chose to forget

Even the memory that only exists

In my own head.





© 2022 mar