Go away.
How did you get in the door?
How dare you invade?
Just who let you in?
You come ripping through here
squeezing a moan,
then a fearful tear,
finally a scream out of me
when you appear,
unwelcome,
rude and insistent
on entry.
Stay out of my face.
Get the hell out of my head.
You have no business here
that I wish to know about
or be part of.
Every kind of good and bad
is in you
all twisted up in colors
sliding sideways
down the edge
of my reality
first tapping on my brain
soon pounding to get in
wanting to mingle with
my daytime thoughts.
You’re uninvited
yet you approach
forcing your way
unbidden,
unwelcome,
without mercy
barging in like you
own the place
trying to take over
without a single
word of welcome
whispered or otherwise.
Don’t you think
I saw you lurking
outside in the shadows
skulking around
in the dark watching
for the perfect moment
to disturb?
Why do you think
night after night,
feigning nonchalance,
I keep my eyes wide open
watching carefully
from their corners,
doing anything but
succumbing to sleep?
~ cj 2012.07.23
I woke up with this entire poem in my head this morning. I tried to push it away, but like the nightmare I’d just had, it insisted on getting out.
