Fatigued.

by Poet on the Piano   Dec 7, 2019


You can't promise that
it will be different now;
the cold still keeps me
from opening up.

I once poured and poured
into the goblets of others
until my soul became a
desert.

I'm stranded here, again,
only this time,
I am apathetic.
If someone should find me
under the stars,
I'd just wish for them
to take another path.
The stars don't grant
the light I need,
like jazz that momentarily
smooths out the edges
of pain,
then fades away.

It may get better,
but in small ways,
by barely perceptible
silhouettes,
and I don't always have
a magnifying glass or a
grateful heart or the patience
to wait for bigger signs.

You remind me to
look for the little
glimpses of a future,
but it's hard when
everything I drink
leaves me
colder than before.

    report violation
7


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Latest Comments

  • 4 years ago

    by M. Rene'

    Have you ever heard of or read any poetry by Sabrina Benaim? Your work reminds me a lot of her style.

    Also I love this piece, thanks for sharing.

    • 4 years ago

      by Poet on the Piano

      Thank you so much for reading and commenting. Yes! Sabrina's "Explaining My Depression To My Mother" is one of my all time favorites and it sticks with me to this day, but I can't say that I'm familiar with any other of her works.

      Thank you, again <3

  • 4 years ago

    by Milly Hayward

    Some people are like emotional vampires they suck the energy and life from their victims but once escape has been made vitality and energy will return. Milly x

  • 4 years ago

    by Brenda

    Mary Anne, a touching piece that speaks volumes. It's hard when we give and give and nothing is returned to us to give us sustenance. You are absolutely correct, it makes you apathetic and cold. Theres only so many chips at our hearts until there is nothing left to give. You are such a giving soul and there are so many people that will take that soul and abuse it, people can be just awful. Never lose that warmth, it is so much of who you are-hugs-

  • 4 years ago

    by Ben Pickard

    A touching poem, MA. I would like to elaborate on what Mark says, but really, I'm not sure that I can!

    All the best as ever,
    Ben

  • 4 years ago

    by prasanna

    I don't know what to say about this poem. It resonates a lot with me. The cold keeping you from opening up; it's almost like it's an instinctive reaction to the cold to just hide/burrow away.

    Filling other people's cups up with yourself isn't sustainable; it's draining and really taxing on a person. Especially when it isn't returned; there's something to be said about the people who take and take, and never give back, and conversely something to be said about those who willingly give without a seconds thought.

    It's hard being vulnerable and it feels like placing a burden unto others when you give them a glimpse into your life and what's troubling you. The crutches you use to cope are temporary at best and you find yourself needing to move on to new ones until they don't work as well, and you can't find anything to abate the feeling.

    You also realize that better things are on the horizon, but like life beat you down and you question whether if you can even make it, or if it will even be better.

    There's a lot of authenticity in this poem, I think it's best described as a poem born in the midst of a rut, and I feel this poem 100%. You're not alone, and my DMs are always open if you ever need to vent or anything.

    I wish I could nominate this.

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