I guess it all depends…

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We often experience
A multitude of seasons
And nobody really knows
All of those reasons

But we carry on
Like we always do
Even when the answers
Are nearly none to few

And we never stop to question
What those seasons mean
Yet there must be hidden answers
In everything we’ve seen

Scattered between the pages
Of our monotonous lives
There have got to be reasons
For why we’ve somehow survived

And even if those answers
Are never actually found
We should all be happy
We’ve been allowed to stick around

So many people in this world
Never have that gifted chance
I guess it all depends
On our individual circumstance

© 2019 Michelle Cook


For a month of writing prompts, click here; Along the weathered, winding trail

 

The truth

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I feel saddened by words
Which aren’t meant for me
Seems so often the truth
Hides in what I see

And my heart breaks
For what I know to be true
But my head tells me to ignore it
Now what should I do

Do I blindly let life
Lead me by
Enjoying the naïve view
Right in front of my eye

Or should I care
That the truth is hidden
Behind words I see
So plainly written

© 2019 Michelle Cook

Buried

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I try to mask it
But it’s there
Buried deep
But not deep enough
Layers of days
And even years
Piling on top
Pushing it down
Trying to erase
The ugliness
The pain
The absurdity
All the lies
One small dagger
Could put an end
To all the misery
All that I feel
And yet even conviction
Of a self
I hardly know
Could right
All that’s wrong
But doubt stifles
My strength
Yielding both scenarios
Futile and foolish
So I continue
To suffer
In endless silence
Because I fail
To utilize
The power
I myself hold
To change
To make a difference
Even a slight one
But still…
If only I trusted
The outcome
If only I believed
In myself

© 2019 Michelle Cook

Listen to your mother…

One thing I’ve never done is written anything for obvious reasons.  Everything I write has a much deeper meaning, and few people are privy to the real interpretation.  And in a way, that is so much more satisfying to me because there are things I don’t want to have to explain to the world.  My true self is hidden somewhere within the words that scatter across every page I write.  All those cryptic words… most reminiscent of days long ago when the seasons couldn’t change fast enough; when life took me by surprise every goddamn day, messing with my heart and soul.  Seems like a lifetime ago, and yet it really wasn’t, or was it?  Those who think they know me, are only fooling themselves.  Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to judge a book by its cover? ~M