Wordle #220 and Sing Out Your Success | Poetry Prompt 11


Life is so fair that it seems

Sinister at times

Every manner of man exists

And every manner of emotion

Both grotesque and divine.

I am neutral despite

My desire for goodness,

So devastatingly neutral.

Chaos is my courage, the urge

To link whatever the risk implied.

If a minute was all you had to define

Yourself what would you rather be doing?

I drink chocolate milk from a glass bottle

Letters to self, addressed to no one in particular

But jettisoned into the thrum of ongoing traffic.

I gave birth once and in that moment

Nothing else mattered but this unseen entity within.

My fear, my selfish irredeemable fears forgotten

In the presence of a miracle, in a temple of ghosts,

I too was beautiful, certain, present, a mother.

A chill finds its ways into my bones,

Into the velvety, larval center.

My heart is heavy and grey with excess.

The stones here lack that particular crunch.

I am lost, so very far from the mother

That I was when I first held her.

My worries have grown exponentially,

My efforts have effects

That I can never quite predict.

She has a mind of her own

And it does not understand why

Despite the reasons given.

I wonder if my intentions

Truly are as I have portrayed them

Or if I am just desperate?

She is so human, this child

I have been given, she carries

Band-Aids in her pocket

Encase someone else gets hurt

And I think despite me she is beautiful.

Despite everything she cares,

If too much at times but my God

She is not numb and what more is there?