My chest is tight
It’s hard to breathe,
I’ve swallowed a lump
No sorry, that’s my anxiety.
***
I’m devastated
Full of guilt,
I meant no harm
To all we’ve built.
***
My head is spinning
I feel so ill,
I’ll fix my mistake
You’ll see I will.
***
Unable to sleep
Mind is racing,
Climb out of bed
To start pacing.
***
I miss you so
That pure connection,
Thousands of miles away
In another direction.
***
Just to see your name
Pop up on my screen,
You’ve no idea
What that would mean.
***
I rarely admit
This I truly need,
Remove the pain
I beg, I plead.
***
I’m truly sorry
Not that you know,
You’ve forgotten it
I didn’t let it show.
***
You’ve no idea
As I smile at you,
You’re unaware
The pain you drew.
***
Hours of worry
Hours of stress,
Tormented
Obsessed.
***
Over what
I hear asked,
A slip of the tongue
Nothing vast.
***
It’s my over reaction
When slightly wrong,
The causing of pain
And I respond.
***
Ridiculous
Oh please, I know,
My prison warden
Inside me so.
*****************
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****
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Originally posted on Medium
About the Creator
Colleen Millsteed
My first love is poetry — it’s like a desperate need to write, to free up space in my mind, to escape the constant noise in my head. Most of the time the poems write themselves — I’m just the conduit holding the metaphorical pen.
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More stories from Colleen Millsteed and writers in Poets and other communities.
The Harvest
Koyi wobbled to her shabby wood and straw kaz, holding her machete and an old burlap bag with some yams. Someone had laid another basket in front of the patched up door—rose apples today. They were a bright reddish pink, looking waxy and crisp, just the way she liked them. The culprit knew her very well. Those would be crunchy, juicy and sweet—she could tell—but she gathered all the will she could muster and pushed the basket aside to enter her home. She had already said no repeatedly and would not be taking bribes.
By Lily Séjor3 days ago in Fiction
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