24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
In or Out
So many possibilities
Behind the closet door
A monster or an angel
Can walk out that door
Use your imagination
To conjure up an image
The closet holds the magic
Of a thousand minds at work
It’s up to you what comes to life
Behind those closet doors
Just let your mind run wild and free
I’m sure you’ll think of more.
It’s sad to see that no one thinks
Of these things anymore
You’d be surprised what comes to life
Behind those closet doors.
~Rebeli
What is not inside
Among tidy shirts pants ties
What wild beasts seas rains
“Closet”
Skis never used, poles missing
Electric guitar used twice
Old love letters and postcards in a box
Shoes, some never worn
Graduation gown, used once
Full sexual identity
Pillow case, top sheet missing
Boomerang from Australia, thrown once
Scarf from Italy, team unknown
Earrings, dust covered, Heather’s?
Diplomas, framed, scratched slightly
Electrical cord, frayed
Hopes, written in journals, pages yellowed.
The afternoon is sauntering by.
The sky is nearly clear,
just a few far-off clouds
that do not pose any threat.
It is warm, I sit under one fan,
another whirs in behind me.
I am aware Bear and Duke are nearby.
Poem number 12,
the halfway mark.
It is downhill from here.
The gentle clicking of the keyboard,
the whir of the fans,
the blue, blue sky,
all reminding me to hang on,
be strong,
Dance with the poems
in front of you
Let go of the poems behind.
Write for this moment in time.
Contrary to popular belief,
I do not, in fact, hate myself
I am the shit
The tits
A real bad bitch
I have no deeper love, you see
Than the love I have for me
And that right there, of course, is why
I always wanna goddamn die
Because I deserve better than this
I deserve more
More than living in this hellish state
This full on mental war
I love myself too much to make other people happy
I am worth my own happy
I thought why not I haven’t written about love
the silent glow in one’s heart.
The heat in the chest
and the nerves in the stomach.
Working toward a new beginning
sometimes a new relationship but
has caring, excitement and whispers of glow.
As time moves forward
The two people share more information.
They can only hope that a friendship will be forever lasting.
That also builds love.
Love is endless like the wind blowing a sail forward.
Something that is everlasting.
That moves forward.
To more feelings that don’t get lost and packed away.
never ending, love
My kind and generous husband
occupies just one wall of the closet
well, kind of—
my clothes intrude even on the back of his closet rail;
then there’s the safe for important documents
readily available
i swear,
it was there
crap,
now i order a third Social Security card;
hey! here’s the 1960’s
furnace manual from our last house;
i had the idea of creating a morning meditation space
but that idea was abandoned
when i couldn’t get up from the floor
now when did that ability disappear?
was it in my 47th year?;
then evidence of well intentioned attempts at organization
but it’s so overwhelming
i give up
throw the unorganized junk
back into the closet
now even more disorganized than before;
its gotten so cluttered I’ve pushed
my husband to the linen closet as his dressing room
and what type of crap do i have that i
think i absolutely needed?
really i dream of being a
minimalist
but she must exist in another Universe
my generous gracious
husband
now occupies the
linen closet—
thank you for the space
Photo credit: @faithlee @upsplash. Faith Lee, Upsplash
poem ©️ AJ Bostelman, September 2023
12, Prompted:
A closet for me –
Age 12, 8, 14 and 3.
No hope,
No space to just “Be”.
Four walls,
Blocked doors,
A cocktail of norms;
No less than toxic…
But,
It is mine;
Changing with time,
To a space,
Full of memory.
Grow through the floor,
Break down the door and you’re free.
Older now,
I step out and leave it all
Behind me.
At least the night comes
the air settles
the world cools
the fever breaks
mosquitos wake up for a quick little feast
but go dormant before the moths arrive
deer convene and discuss the day
possums- a certain genius in their own methodical way
critters, slower but more sensitive
flashing eyes, spotlights, reflecting a moon
that isn’t that far away