Adult life sucks.
When you’d have the strength
to fight wrongdoers,
to keep your stance,
you’re just too busy
dealing with your traumas,
battling your demons,
feeling like the one to blame‒
every other day.
Any other day I’d write a wonder.
Not today.
—
There’s no use…
misused.
I could have used
a little help.
—
At times,
I can’t help but cry.
What could help but try?
—
A lot more to say;
This isn’t where I end‒
only where discretion starts.
—
I killed my dreams
(and it’s killing me inside).
I killed my dreams. I buried them alive.
I sleep. I’m awake. I fight to survive…
I’ve seen some goals revert
(roll back to dreams).
These dreams never had the chance.
I didn’t put faith in this,
But I realized I was soaring high—
When I saw that I had sunk so low.
I was no bird of prey.
An early bird, but no pray.
And I couldn’t cut it.
Even so, I could have my cake and eat it.
I had a strong
Sense of my own.
I can’t seem to find the right title today—this one will do.
Now isn’t that a laugh?
Too bad there’s not a laugh track.
You always know when to cry;
don’t need a track for that, right?
Oh, you’re saying that you laugh at yourself?
Yet when you cry, you cry over someone else.
You cry because it’s over.
Now isn’t that a cry?
Oh man, welcome to life.
Now you can’t help but crack a laugh
at the irony of your life’s tragicomic track.
If only that were a crying baby in the other room.
You’re but a grown-up knowing not what to do.
Now, when you cry it’s over.
Not a cue card, yet the audience applauds.
You freeze, and that ain’t a dramatic pause.
(So what’s left for the show?)
The denouement is over.
Since I have some time now, I’ve put together this anthology for you all. If you think my effort is worth it and the quality is good, feel free to buy me a coffee, there’s a button at the end too. Feel free to share this post and comment too.
I’ve also added a few extra poems that you might not have seen before.
I’m testing an intricate idea here. This post is a single post with a collection of poems separated by pages (you might see page breaks depending on where you are reading this), with chapters and titles organized by the appropriate headings (no hyperlinks). Call it my postfolio; it’s a post analogous to a book.
Welcome to a journey through language, writing, and the metatextual world of poetry. We’ll explore how language can be both a creative tool and a barrier. From the playful frustration of crumpled drafts to the powerful imagery of ink and blood, these verses challenge traditional forms, blending free verse with deliberate constraints.
The author
Reveries That I Call Poetry 