meloostraightfromhertilt-a-world

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Laughing Maid

TO BE AN ANGEL...

Some Women/Some Woman

The Knowledge...

Time Does Not Recognize Me



I'm A Slug

Home, Ghuey, Sweet Home

If This Is Any Art For Which You Care

I Talk To A Machine In My Darkness

I Long For Stars

And Even Stars Die

Crowded Out

So You Do (May 10, 2010 written for June 1987)

All Beings Considered

Storms

what makes a monster (sympathy for the monster)

Max on the max

why We celebrate the losers

Make (of) Me A Snow Angel

The Times Have Come Back Of Great Want And Lack, This Is The New Great Depression

The Light Goes On In The Attic (WeAll Have Addictons)

Little Water Bug ( learning the lesson of true pain)

Hope You Enjoyed The Eclipse While It Lasted

Written For My Father Who Isn't Here To Know

I Feel Fine(r)

And With Words I Let Them Go

Used to Think I Could Fix Them.

Sometimes Love Comes With Electricity

Into The Swirling Sea Of White.

Boy Restored

Life's A Candle

Malla Batsick

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I Am....( a keen observation )


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do I want to know myself
I think I do
if I were to tell you
who I was
who would listen
as I am listening now to myself
in the dark

sometimes I've got my blind spots
sometimes I am my secrets
sometimes I go so deep under ground

what would I call my story
facts about me might help
though facts can be hard to pin down
facts can raise the curtain onto some
gradual light
like the rising sun of my consciousness
so, here it goes:

I am shy
yet I splay my heart wide open
for all to see
I am someone who is filled up
with the uncertainty of sentimentality
and it gets in my way while
making me very much who I am

I am outspoken too
I've a knack for making others feel uncomfortable-
sometimes they walk away
not knowing what to say or do

I've a voice which echoes through canyons
gaining momentum throughout time
its a sort of testing out of experience
and sometimes, of patience

I am fragile and I am tensile-ly strong
sometimes I know very well how to get along
on my own
but not so well with others
often I can only guess at what to do
other times I'm so keenly attuned
I wish I could tune out

often I am lonely
without a doubt
but often I hide this
and hibernate
a lot more than I admit or reveal

Sometimes I find myself staring
into the lives of others
envying what they have
for me their seeming joie de vivre
has so much appeal
what skill is it they've got
which I seem mostly to lack
a certain talent of kind of knack
how I've studied them
yet still have gone it alone

Its difficult sleeping in the night
its the time when I most frequently write
through my darkness
having elaborate conversations with myself
its my attempts to soothe
and remove the savageness in my heart

I didn't know I had a voice
until long ago when I didn't have the choice
and it came to speaking for who
and what I felt I was and believed in
now I'm beginning to feel some new relief
I know who I am

and speaking out about
who you are
is a journey I'd recommend
to anyone who feels lost

its opening a series of doors
and there's always one more
to unlock and peer behind
its exciting
its overwhelming
its a lot like clearing out the debris after a fire
clarifying what needs to be cleared
what needs to be remembered
what needs to be cherished

some of us stumble throughout our entire lives
until we learn its alright to have
a diamond beating in our chest
and to learn about how fine a diamond our heart is
what a fine diamond we are
and to know it was always there
shining from our beginnings

I won't let my light
burn down and flicker out
how hard it is to tell someone
you've been struggling
that you're tired
truly at the point
of near expiration
but you don't have to explain
yourself
you are enough
with or without words


but here I'm sitting in my chair
I'm writing vigorously
I'm telling you
I am still here
in words that would be shouts
echoing in the densest deepest forest
of my soul
I've survived the fires

I am I write/I say/I must believe
I write until I believe in the the diamond of myself...
these keys,
this page,
my mind all testify
that the diamond which is fired burned down
charcoal from a fire breathes

I am still here

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written directly/bravely to the page.
I've been dealing with all manner
of chronic pain...grief, physical,
etc.
It helps to exorcise it.
writing is that exercise...maybe I'm
exercising it?  

legal copyright for this work/poem and also for this
writer/author Melissa A Howells and also for this
legally copyrighted site title
Meloo Straight From Her Tilt-a-World
9/11/17...oh now, I understand
why it feels acute, its 911 too. wow.

re-edited Sunday September 17.2017 1:34PM PST





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