A Poem? Not a Poem?

Let’s try this again.
I’ve written, deleted, written more.
Deleted more.
This is my life. Nothing sticks,
no matter what I try.
I’m not finishing things,
not accomplishing anything.
Write. Delete.
No record I was ever here.
Do I really have so little to say?
Or do I simply lack the voice to say it?
I tried to sing along to an old song
when I was driving yesterday.
My throat felt tight and closed.
My voice wobbled, unable
to find and hold the note.
I used to sing all the time:
school chorus,
community theater,
around the house.
Anywhere and everywhere.
Always a song.
And if not a song, a story.
Not any more.
I bury my stories deep.
I silence my songs.
And the silence has stretched so long,
that I’ve forgotten the words to my life.
Has the tune faded too?
I strain to hear it,
to hum it,
but there’s nothing there.
Am I disintegrating?
Have so many pieces of my self
fallen away
that I’m unrecognizable?
Is this why I can’t write?
I feel as though part of me
has been switched off,
and I don’t know how
to turn it on again.
Even as I type,
my throat feels constricted
and sore.
I cannot speak.
Whatever I have to say,
my body holds tight
and won’t release.
I fear that if I ever
find that current,
that energy,
that life force again,
it will shatter me.
What’s left of me.
It will blow me apart.
Would that be a relief?
One last burst of feeling,
followed by…
What?
Nothing?

Maybe if I knew that answer,
I wouldn’t feel
so empty,
so lost,
so tired,
so alone,
so discouraged,
so hollow,
so done.

Advertisements