Ashley Wilda

Author

Tag: Poetry

Question Mark in the Space that Is Nothing

Sometimes, we all need a resting place.

Somewhere just to stop

And sit

And take roots

Even if just for a moment.

We all have a place where time stops

Something we do that makes now feel like someplace else.

Alternate.

But when we’re done, time leaps forward again

And we are left more exhausted than before

The abated worries piling up on our backs like a car wreck.

Focus.  Action.  Purpose.

It’s all good and well, until we wake up and time has just

Leapt

Into what we tried to avoid

And now we’re just

Bone

Weary.

When the L has been taken out of Live and now what is left?

You tell me.

I can’t know.

World is grey, the sky no cheer

The very plants are brittle

The chap of the air sucking the blood color from your skin.

And you, me.

We.

Just huddle here, motionless

Hugging our knees

Waiting for the springtime

That will it come.

“Normal”

“Normal” is a poem that I wrote when I became frustrated with how people act in public.  I was at school, watching how everyone walked with their head down, shoulders hunched, hands stuffed in their pockets.  Whenever anyone held a door open for me or smiled at me, it made my day, because often I felt unnoticed and unimportant, almost unwanted.  I think many people hide loneliness like this, acting “normal” like everyone else, but inside just wishing that a stranger would do anything, even smile, to let them know that they are not alone.

 

Normal

The standard walk,

The standard talk,

Head down,

Eyes low,

Words short,

Words clipped,

Mouth downturned,

Frown fixed.

 

Acknowledge no one

But yourself

Or else,

Or else.

This is normal,

And normal

You will be.

 

But when the rebel

Grins,

You’d be surprised

Who smiles

Back.

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