I don’t have a soul anymore.
Not sure where it has flown.
I didn’t know it was there before
But now I’m sure it’s gone.
Maybe I dropped it in the parking lot
Or it hid between the pages of a book.
Maybe it slipped through a rip
In the purplish thin spot.
Hopefully it has gone to a good home.
I don’t have a personality anymore.
That slinked away,
Closing the back door softly on its way out.
Creativity?
Gone.
Goals?
What are those?
I concede,
I’m defeated
And there’s no repletion
From a handful of ragweed.
Maybe it has all rolled into a cabbage field.
Bundled inside one purple head of cabbage amongst all the green.
Let’s hope so; then I’d be able to spot it easily.
Or what if it’s just a snail on one of the cabbage leaves?
I imagine a heavy-booted farmer stomped it flat and clean.
Maybe all of what makes me me was murdered
And now my body, splayed,
Abandoned,
Is in the muted sunken place,
Stuck under the surface of things,
Gasping under plastic.
Or in a vice,
One that amplifies gravity.
There’s wet rot in the air that I have to work
To force inside my lungs
And oh, how it stings.
All the iron and salt sent down to Earth
Is in my pores
And behind my eyes.
There are soul-murderers everywhere, you know.
Is this what it feels like to be murdered
By those hands?
Those hands.
Those far-reaching, lying hands.
They do it to all of us every time.
The hands of man,
The ones that say they hold Truth in them,
The ones that killed innocence.
There’s no glue at the center of things anymore.
Paper, paper everywhere and not a drop of glue.
Hello?
I’d like to report a fire,
A genocide
Of my love of words and language,
Of the arts, and nature, and God.
Now they all
Burn.
Send water.
Wash the burn away.
I can’t even seek out the sky
Or stand in the sun
Without egging on the agony
That drips from an egg of shards
That was cracked on my head and
Scrapes all the way down.
I drive in one large circle
After leaving work
So I can scream to God in my car
About how much I hurt.
I spend an hour getting rugburns
On my forehead
Every night
‘Neath my east-facing window.
And there I’ve watered
Every soil-sewn seed that yearns in thirst.
I am just an ass in a chair
Or on the edge of my bed,
A head on a pillow,
A heap on the floor.
I am nobody.
I am pain.
And everything is
Death
And Winter.
St John of The Cross experience perhaps? My other response is, who is it that is observing that grief?
Damn I love your perspective, It illuminates my soul
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I tried googling St John of the cross but I couldn’t quite get the reference you were making. Can you please explain? Now I’m curious. And i guess the person is lost, misunderstood, letting other people wrongly define who they are or what their truth is. I guess you aren’t you anymore when you let that happen.
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I may have misinterpreted either your poem or his and am way off base
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Very well penned poems, I like it, speaks a multitude of things , Rachelle..
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Thank you so much Aquib
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Fuck.
“There are soul murderers everywhere, you know. ” Yes. But, I love how you pointed it out here.
Also, what if you’re boiled cabbage?
Shite!
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Damn boiled cabbage loses its crunch. I hope I stay raw. Hi kimmyfriend. ❤ thanks
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Oh… and yes, everything IS death and winter right now, but we ALWAYS ALWAYS have hopes of a positive outcome on Groundhog Day. Right? A rodent rules our blues.
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If Bill Murray is involved, I’m all for it. Rodents probably should rule everything. They are hardcore survivors and thrivers. How the fuck do u spell that and is thriver ever a word? Always hope yes. Always. Thanks mel 🙂 ❤
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Powerful writing FFP! ⚰ 😰💌
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Thanks Vanessie!! 🙂 I am so stoked there is a coffin emoji!!!!!!!! Thanks!!!
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haha you are most welcome!!
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This is incredible. Wow. I have felt this way too. You have put voice to my own feelings. This is painfully, poetically beautiful
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Oh nice! I’m glad it’s relatable and not aloof. Thanks so much and also it was really awesome of you to reblog it on your site. I appreciate the nod! 🙂
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You are very welcome. It’s always a pleasure to share such brilliant poetry 🙏
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Reblogged this on RamJet Poetry and commented:
Damn this one hurts
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“Everything is Death and Winter” is worth pursuing on a grander scale.
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Expand the metaphor in its own poem? Or you mean I should have my head examined? Hahahaah jk. Thanks Phil
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Both?
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Hahahhaa
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January is a soul robber. Nice post!
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Thank you so much Jess! I’ll find that damn soul yet! 🙂
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Feeling a bit of existential angst there, dear? Nice poem and interesting blog. I’m going to follow for a while.
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Yeah it was heavy dark hour I guess. Haha. Thanks for the compliments. I appreciate that. 🙂
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This is so full of poignant metaphors. A delight to read. Rugweeds and rugburns. Thanks for sharing it Rachel.
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Thanks for appreciating the details Anand!
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My pleasure, Rachel. Have a great day 🙂
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This one resonates profoundly right now, FFP. Feels like you infiltrated my thoughts. You really have a gift.
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Hi thanks AG. You been there too huh? It’s good to bounce back from it. You good? And thanks so much by the way for your compliment. It really really means a lot, especially bc writing is so important to me.
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Right in the heart… Beautiful…
Favorite part… amazing…
“A genocide
Of my love of words and language,
Of the arts, and nature, and God.”
The line I related to the most…
“So I can scream to God in my car
About how much I hurt.”
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Ahhh this is awesome to be understood. I honestly didn’t think it would make a relatable impact for anyone bc I just kinda poured it out instead of crafting thoughtfully. Yeah you’ve been there with the car crying too? It’s a release for me. Little healing cocoon that a car is. Haha. Hope you are well. Thank you so much.
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Looooove
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I could read you till the cows come home. I’d read you best leaning on the trunk of an old tree, blanket bound,summer heat all ‘roind. You in print in my hands. 😊💕
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You win the award for best romanticized comment! Thank you so much for being that kind of reader who sees and enjoys every line like that. I am that way too. Slow down the process, savor it, enjoy what I read. 🙂 And thank you very heartily for your compliments! It is very much appreciated! May the cows never come home! 🙂 ❤
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😍 What words to awaken to! Greetings, your royal highness of word. The cows are content in yonder paddock and heavy with calves, so this writer’s crush shall stand the test of (livestock) time. 😊❤️
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Oh wow! I am humbled so low!!! I have won the blog friend lottery meeting you today, Diana! Your comment is in fact “High-Speech,” as they say in Dark Tower lore, and pure artistry in and of itself. May our mutual womanbloggerwriter Crushes crush away! 🙂 ❤
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No, be humbled so high you need an eagle strapped to each arm to keep you aloft when you jump off that Dark Tower! Crushing shall start in earnest this weekend as I travel to a new kingdom, where you are Queen! ❤
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So much of this made me laugh. So much of it express a duality of disdain towards personal talent, and exposure. Loved it!
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It does? Oh! cool! hahaahh. never saw it that way. Hey, thanks for loving it. appreciate it.
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Sorry it takes so long to read your material. I’m a busy bee, as you know. It’s not easy being a denizen gypsy.
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