Spiraling

 
 
 
 
 
 
Where do I start?
How do I end?
Where am I going?
in circles, in circles
Can’t catch a break
or a smile, or a friend.
Tell me true, would someone like you
hold me encircled
in gentle, strong arms;
hold me close and whisper
“all is well”?
It’s Hell! I tell you
when Heaven seems so near.
But the fear, it circles,
keeps me restrained,
so trembling,
so dis-eased.
It’s not that there’s someone
who needs to be pleased
by my shame, by my fame
which escaped me,
by my deep prone supplication,
by my pain.
But if I don’t please just so,
I attack from that low place inside.
I know, you can feel
what I mean.
I hear you decry anxious tears,
act like apprehension of fear
leads to fair prize.
What I need to be told:
Could someone like you
hold me so tight
make it all right
tell me you care
always be there
deep in the night when I
just need to write
one more freak-out poem?
Could you be a safe home
for my poetry and me
in those times when it
kills me to hide
in circles, in circles?
.
.

 

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