Poets United Midweek Motif ~ Of Poems

There is a poem inside of me.

It exists in the subdued sunsets

of my eyes when tightly pressed.

Every time I retreat inward

I feel it crawling, clawing

on the inside of my eyelids

like cat that wants to be let out.

That feverish third eye

that knows without knowing,

that stirs the primordial soup

and remakes itself each day

on the bones of my grief.

I feel everything to exhaustion,

you might say I am histrionic.

Perhaps you will think me a villain

for all the confession I have made.