It

Wasted time
Maybe
Luxury in the making
Perhaps
Time is too arrogant for any of us
My reads have become too few
Forgetting me
Leaving rooms unattended in order to conserve the pleasures of It
Unattended rooms
Souls yearning for attention and yet one continues in turning away
Once again forgetting who you are
Not realizing you’re afraid of someone and finally waking up
Sober enough to begin clearing the collected cobwebs in your heart of hearts
The place where breathing comes naturally
It hates everything you love
It demeans all you stand for
It judges whom you stand for
It creates a nest
A place where you are only allowed to walk on cracked, broken glass
It mimics those you love
It despises a healthy smile
It cringes at your creativity
Your art – It considers it all blasphemy
It considers you, unworthy
It walks around – always on duty
And for what?
It builds walls
Ones you were never meant to leave
It curses the very air you breathe
It does not love you
It never did
It needed a body – to cover the empty space in between
It loves no one
Not even the solace of a cold, rotting sun

Elizabeth Mendiola
©2014

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2 thoughts on “It

  1. Hey, I was reading thoughts on lyric writing, which states that third person references are impersonal, I would have to object that presumption after reading this poem. Thank!

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