The Poetry Marathon

Why can’t I get your voice out of my head?
It would be easier if all of it was the horrible stuff.
The sounds of you screaming, throwing things or people to the ground.
The moments where all I could do was crawl under a blanket, or in a corner, and try to pretend that Ididn’t exist.

It would be better if I didn’t have the good memories.
Of you taking me to the theatre, watching my soccer games and choir concerts, or singing along to showtunes with me in the car.

It would be so much easier if this world was just black and white,
And if monsters and people could never be one in the same.
Greyscale sucks.

Their chilled fingers brush down my spine,
And I erupt into shivers.
The room is dark around me.
My eyes meet only shadow.
But there are breaths flitting through the air,
Some carrying baited, icy words that dance at the very edge of my hearing.
They duck away whenever I receive some meaning,
Leaving me alone, clueless, without the knowledge that would be key to my freedom.
So I remain a wanderer,
Searching for any solidity, a glimpse of light,
Or an escape from these shades that stalk me,
And taunt me with their cold whispers,
And their chilled fingertips.

I can glimpse the flaws in your shield.
Where the smallest breeze can slip through,
or where the flame brightest,
and the smooth impermeable armor can be torn away.

I can only imagine how easily you can see through me.
My transparency could be seen by a blind man.
My emotions run riot over every inch of my face,
and the twitches of my hands can give out more messages than a master of ASL.
Open book, would be an understatement. Of the highest degree.

Tell me, if I can see your chinks so easily,
and if I am the clearest mirror available,
is that why we’re all blinded?
So many reflections, warring across our continents.
It’s no wonder we’re all confused.
Why would we trust something that is so bright and obvious?
Shining like beacons on roaming monoliths,
or giant neon arrows.
The more obvious an explanation,
the stronger we resist its truthfulness.

How do we know what’s truly in our minds?

There are innumerable flickers of thoughts through our skull mush,

Memories, intuitions, interpretations.

Even we, who supposedly own ourselves,

Cannot track, cannot contemplate every individual nerve ending and electronic pulse that shoots across our neurons.

It all moves a bit too fast for me.

Maybe one day, I’ll know myself well enough.

Maybe one day, I’ll know what I’m thinking.

Well, here I am, getting ready to exacerbate my sleep deprivation even more! But hey, the writing will be worth it! This is gonna be fun 😀

Hi, I’m Cheyenne, and I’m doing the full marathon tomorrow. I write a lot of different things, from novels to Haikus. I’m excited for this experience 🙂