Photo by Pawel Czerwinski on Unsplash
I am one of those witches,
full of resentments,
that mumble darkly
in the cradle of night
Love me, love me, love me!
–
Desperate women are dangerous
they carry hell within them.
They are, themselves, a kind of hell.
Wild as fire and rolled at the edges
they move as cold breath,
warm, white, and weightless
into the wounded arms of fate.
–
None despair so much in love
as those who desire it.
The oceans of loss
I alone have wept
could drown the stars.
–
I subject myself to death daily,
to the tortures of the unkempt mind.
I have terrible thoughts, thoughts
which gain weight and density through repetition,
thoughts which suck the marrow out of everything.
This is how a man becomes a black hole.
mindlovemisery 
Old adage, better out than in. Yes, descriptive, no doubt. Painfully well written. I understand, I take no offense, but who are we talking to. Some heart somewhere might be yearning for encouragement. How do we make that possible.
I am a heart yearning for encouragement, for some positive sign from the universe. I am also desperate and some days bitter. It is an autobiographical poem so a lot of it is for the sake of catharsis and self-analysis. Receiving love may well be harder than giving love, we are so quick to shut love out and close up our hearts, so quick to judge ourselves and others. I think we have to keep trying to open up.
Yes. And I wonder if it’s us the universe wants to use as that voice encouraging. For myself, that’s what I wonder anyway. Be what you want to receive, I say to me. More lonely otherwise.
That is a beautiful thought
Outstanding. Please write every day. I need your poems.
Thank you Shawna, that really means a lot.