The Mule

by Chelsey   Nov 1, 2012


Sometimes life does the unimaginable, gives the unthinkable,
but its a fact, you can not get back what yesterday stole.
So why am I awake, crying at what "was", what "has been"?
Why did I concuss my pen after throwing it against the wall?
......to avoid writing this.

I am but a mule who was trained to walk uphill with satchels
and luggage draped over my back, used to carry others burdens.
Where is my assistance when I'm at the bottom looking up,
thinking "how can I climb that?" Where is my relief?

I want to be the rider, the one who doesn't mind the journey
as long as it's easier for them. The one that just gets sunburn,
but whose back doesn't tighten, feet doesn't blister. I wish
to be the flogger and whip the back of my guide. My support.

I give until it hurts..literally, my heart beats less per minute
than an average one should. The lost beats spend time mourning
the death of bonds that were once thick, once durable.
Compromising what it was made for, to give life.

The status quo stays the same as each passerby that
once called me their loved one, their favorite, their best,
watches as I struggle.

Tonight I've been thinking, I'm continuously and without fail
the only one who sleeps with Kleenex in their pillowcase
because my dreams awake me crying. My dreams replay
voices that I wish to snatch and cradle, but that's the same
thing as touching them...which I cannot do.
Or I'll come undone.

I can no longer stand to hear the shouts of those who
believed in me, but only needed me to make it through.
I avoid them in real life, but at night, my rest has turned
into a city in Greece and I'm reminded of walking through
mountainous passes and rocky terrain, carrying many.

This is why I befriended 3 a.m and we talk amongst
the silence, because she knows that I need someone.
She knows that I am sick of being treated like a crossbred
volunteer, who's alive to ease the voyage of others while
being confused of my own identity.

* this is by far the weirdest thing I've ever wrote...a vent gone wrong :/

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Latest Comments

  • 12 years ago

    by Xanthe

    "My
    dreams replay
    voices that I wish to snatch and cradle, but
    that's the same
    thing as touching them...which I cannot do"
    ^
    Absolutely love that.

    You know, weird things are beautiful. They're different and they stand out. Your title really made me curious and I just had to read this. And it felt like it was a journey reading through this. A bit random in some parts; straying, but they meet at one point: sadness. And it is genuine.

    A few thoughts-

    "but its a fact, you can not get back what
    yesterday stole."
    ^
    'its' needs an apostrophe. The comma can be replaced with 'that' or a colon.

    "carry others burdens."
    ^
    others'

    "The one that
    just gets sunburn,
    but whose back doesn't tighten, feet doesn't blister"
    ^
    I thought 'that' could be replaced with: who. And sunburn would be better in its past tense, perhaps?

    Great write, Chelsey. Much enjoyed.

  • 12 years ago

    by nouriguess

    Chelsey,

    In my own opinion, this:

    'Why did I concuss my pen after throwing it against the wall?
    ......to avoid writing this.'

    is truly, really far from weird.

    You know... I have no idea why I can't find my ramblings any good. I find yours perfect. Heartfelt writings are the best.

    I especially love the third stanza and the rider/flogger metaphor, you have a way with words. Has anybody told you this? Really, I felt like you're writing a short story filled with emotions and similes. I just loved that.
    I love the whole metaphor anyway. The mule...very interesting.

    I am nominating this but I need you to correct few typos so that when it gets to the front page, nobody bites us both.
    : P
    'whose' in the last stanza = who's.
    'its' in the first should have an apostroph.

    :) That's it.
    Truly impressive.

  • 12 years ago

    by Yakori bint Muhammed

    You honestly poured out your heart here. Very heart wrenching and sad. In life, its whether we choose to lie static and let life to drive us to cringing moments. Perhaps, in our favour we wake up and say no to all trials and pessimism. We live our lives conforming to how we choose to lay on our beds. Rumpled and dirty or cleaned and smoothly layed. Its an individual choice.

    So all I'll say is not give in to your 3 am buddy. Don't allow her to be ticking on, waiting to bottle your pangs in its stroke of minutes and hours. Take a walk, listen to a song, watch a movie, call a friend, cook a dish, play a game, be in the company of your beloved ones. And your favourite, let it all out on your paper, computer or note application on phone; penning an awesome poem.

    Just don't let unfathomable lifes' questions muddle you. Always stand up and fight against your emotions. You live you life to attain your goals, don't let life drive you to injustice.
    A good message to all and relatable as well. You always captivate me with your powerful thoughts. Lovely! :) ..

  • 12 years ago

    by Maple Tree

    Vent gone wrong? I don't think so... It was a passionate and metaphoric way of expressing your feelings, and it was a powerful one at that... not going to break it down... no need to... just want to say a few things that touched me if I may... 3am being your friend is something that a writer does often, because that is the time when the spirit within can flow without distraction... very powerful statement right there... and on a personal note for me: I wrote a poem several years back about a mule... it was metaphoric... and it is symbolic in many ways to the feelings you have expressed... powerful indeed... and just so you know your not alone... I too keep tissues in my pillow case. <3

  • 12 years ago

    by X Harlea X

    Geez woman, this was so sad. :( Some people can relate to this and it's just... Gah powerful, sad, and can make a person see exactly how you feel. Keep that pretty head up hun, things are always better in the long run. (5)