Jumbled like Jenga

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Cardboard boxes
End to end
Will I ever see
This floor again

Jumbled like Jenga
Teetering towers
At this point I’ve got
Superpowers

Lifting, squatting,
Moving mountains
Nothing else rhymes
Except for fountains

Dizzy from exertion
I could really use a break
But my will isn’t willing
To negotiate

I’ve gotta get this done
No time to waste
Cause right now I’m feeling
So displaced

And once this is finished
I’ll have me some fun
For I’ll have earned my day
Of sitting in the sun

© 2020 Michelle Cook


Photo credit: https://pixabay.com/photos/box-memories-photos-books-1209969/

The true treasures of life

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Every day I realize
More and more what I have
It isn’t my belongings, dusty on shelves
It isn’t the things I’ve accomplished
Or even the things I’ve mastered
But instead, It’s the people
And the experiences
The beauty of life itself
These are the things that matter
The things that are worth loving
The things I want to fight for
I hope I never lose sight
Of the true treasures of life

© 2020 Michelle Cook


Photo credit: https://pixabay.com/photos/dog-girl-pet-animal-young-female-4286921/

Unrequited love

 

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I realized something today
I love too fiercely for this world.
Perhaps people think I’m disingenuous
when I pour out everything I feel.

And I wonder what I should do
about all the love I have to give.
If I could bottle it, I would.
Surely someone would want it then.

If only I could share my love
with those who really need it,
or pour love into people
who are suffering from the lack of.

The biggest problem is
love hurts when you try to hold it in.
And carrying it around inside of me
is a burden I’m no longer willing to bear.

Sometimes, I just wanna rip out my heart
and feed it to the wolves.
At least then I’d finally be free
from the urge to ever love again.

© 2020 Michelle Cook


Photo credit: https://pixabay.com/photos/people-one-window-abandoned-3111875/

The Dream

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Once lost on the cusp
of a whisper in time,
is now something cultivated,
formed and fashioned.

Evidence composed
of a sacred memory.

Sprinkled with the essence
of a divine creator.

Recorded as proof
that our existence
has never been limited
to the meager
constraints of this world.

But instead,
“The Dream,”
that wonderful, beautiful dream,
goes far beyond…

Far beyond anything
we could ever imagine.

© 2020 Michelle Cook


Photo credit: https://pixabay.com/photos/fantasy-landscape-cave-sun-light-2945514/

One Unsympathetic Night

 

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There was a time, long long ago,
when grief consumed and controlled me.
Desperate thoughts and delusions
carpeted the walls of my mind.
And if memory serves me correctly,
it all began one unsympathetic night.

I was lost in empty thought.
Resting quietly,
against the old familiar comforts,
which only a saggy, depleted featherbed can give.

But powdered blue notions,
ran rampant that eve,
spinning a trap, right in front of my eyes.
And nothing could have prepared me
for the ambush; I was about to face.

Typically, I have always been on the offensive,
but that night, I was taken by complete surprise.
It seemed as if a tornado,
one filled with erratic and overemotional thoughts,
had somehow landed on top of me.

I felt my chest tighten,
surrounded by every last unfortunate thought I’d ever had.
Even the cuckoo down the hall
seemed to chime a little less enthusiastically
as I wrestled with my mind.

Every hope, wish, dream,
seemed to vanish into thin air.
I was left nauseated by midnight blue reflections,
and I laid there motionless,
desperately waiting for dawn to arrive.

At first light, I knew something was still terribly off.
I became temporarily crippled,
the fear of ignorance—all-consuming.
The overwhelming feelings,
ones comprised of dolor and distress,
clung to the recesses of my troubled heart.
I was quite literally suffocating,
in-between swells of uncertainty.

It wasn’t long before mama came looking for me.
I must’ve had the look of death itself,
as the light in her eyes
grew instantaneously dim.

Mama worked to make sense of my sickly state,
and I tried to give her all that remained of my spirit.
But my half-smile looked more like a frown,
and there was just no way of deflecting
all the worry situated in her gaze.

I knew right then and there;
mama had recognized my face as her very own.
It seemed the dispiritedness in our humble abode
had finally caused the undulating waters to reach me.

As I now reminisce,
recalling the details of that one unsympathetic night,
I realize just how long it’s taken for the floodwaters to recede.
And even though the waves have since quieted,
I am still not the same girl I once was.

© 2020 Michelle Cook


Photo credit: https://pixabay.com/photos/sleep-bed-sheets-covers-comforter-839358/

 

You bring me home…

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For everyone here on WordPress, this is what you do to me whenever I read your lovely words.  Thank you for always inspiring me and leaving me feeling comforted and loved.  It’s this community that really brings me home.

 

Oh the feeling
When I read such words
The kind that touch my soul
It’s pure bliss
Orgasmic
Mind-blowing
Genius
And I just want to shout out
My unfeigned amazement
From the rooftops
Every time you write

It’s like a mother
Who watches her child
Take their first step
Excitement and pride
Respect and elation
Gratitude and wonderment
They all flood my chest
Puffing it up
With crisp memories
Of bygone days
The ones you leave me remembering
The ones I want to hold on to
Gripping tight to those nostalgic days
Because I fear letting go

After all, I may never remember
Those precious nuggets of time
The ones that settle deep down
In the hidden recesses
Of my aging heart
So I hold on
Grasping ― white-knuckled
Death gripping your words
Because each lovely
Beautiful
Heartfelt word
Each one of them
Brings me home

© 2020 Michelle Cook


Photo credit: https://pixabay.com/photos/girl-childhood-fun-happiness-park-2398821/

 

My Sarah bunny…

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You’re the only one
who truly ever knew me.
I confided in you
nearly every day.
I whispered to you
all my secrets in the dark,
and promised you
everything my little heart could give.
You were the only one who listened
every day when the fights erupted.
You heard my screams
and comforted me the best you could.
When I cried my eyes out,
spilling out countless tears,
you showed me
that I was not alone.
You never left my side,
which always made me feel loved.
And you’re still special to me,
even though you’re not a living being.
I think you’re the only reason
I had any hope at all back then
because my little girl eyes
couldn’t find love or comfort anyplace else.

© 2020 Michelle Cook

In the still of the night

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In the still of the night
he came to me.
Kneeling beside me,
I could feel his feathery touch.
He was memorizing my features,
hoping I wouldn’t wake.
I was only pretending to be asleep,
enjoying the feel of his hand.
Desperately wanting to reach out,
but not daring to ruin the moment.
And I wondered about all he was thinking,
as he traced every crease on my face.
I wanted to open my eyes and smile,
as he placed warm kisses on my cheeks.
But I dared not even open one eye,
for I knew he’d then be gone.

© 2019 Michelle Cook


Photo credit:  https://pixabay.com/photos/woman-human-face-sleeping-lantern-4284892/

 

Electric sky

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Pulsing flashes
In lunar blue
Reminds me of nights
Spent with you

The electricity surges
And the sparks fly
With no known method
To quantify

A pensive mood
Brings your essence near
As the reflection of your face
Ignites a tear

Another sporadic flicker
Illuminates the sky
Reviving untold memories
Of you and I

© 2019 Michelle Cook


For a month of writing prompts, click here;  Electric sky

Always in a crowd

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No matter day nor time
He’s mysteriously there
Often presenting himself
As a charming reflection
Or sometimes merely peering
Through airy sheers
As if lost in another dimension
And when I see his hazy image
Forming late at night
Standing casually by the curb
Under that old, misty lamp post
I’m fully convinced
That my delusions
Are fully functioning
As the churning whirls of smoke
Find their way
Over to my door
Each captivating puff
Curling up against my nose
Alighting my senses
With the waft of bygone days
Ones that could never be forgotten
Even though their existence
Is a fallacy in itself

© 2019 Michelle Cook


For a month of writing prompts, click here;  Always in a crowd