Amanda Gayle (amandagayle) wrote,
Amanda Gayle
amandagayle

I Feel Some Bad Poetry Coming On...

March 23 at 7:50pm
This isn't finished. I started it in october, and then realized I'd unconsciously ripped off a Mumford and Sons song. But I decided to finish it last night. Except I didn't get there.


29 lions in you standing on the edge
of something small
A snarl for every year you sat still,
making all the choices not to fall
29 times nine lives stand for
each and every single time you died,
And every time you came back once more
licking cuts upon your sorry hide.

Ten whole years spent sleeping, sighing
mumbling in your dreams to anyone
Because the pillow next to your head
might as well be bare for all the ways you're numb.
It's been 10 years on the lam from faces
you can't face for things you've left undone
Hiding from the things they thought
You'd have the muster to have beat and won.

But you fly low to the ground
under the radar and the sound
of all the voices all around
in your own head
lest they shoot you down.

And now those 29 lions under your skin
claw your insides to break loose
From that day you woke to find your once familiar leash
was just a pretty noose.
We wear our stains so proudly these days
blackened fingers held high and splayed wide
Burnt lips pursed to kiss the shadows
'cause nothing's wrong when nothing's ever right.

So tomorrow, now, ten years ago
those lions know there's never any start.
There's never any finish either
and the point of you is not even a mark
In the scheme of things, the world at large
the deja vu and circling of the years,
And in this is the crux of it, the sticking point
of each and every fear.

It's like the first time that you cried
or the last time that he died,
where every breath and every sigh
is nothing but a noise
is nothing but a lie.

29 lions in you bleeding from the edge
of what you've wrought
The jagged ends of broken peace
from standing quiet when you should have fought.
It's been 10 years sleeping on your back
like a turtle with legs running to nowhere,
When you may have well stood statue like ~
your sins mean nothing even when laid bare.

But still those 29 lions in you ravage your gut
with their razor claws
There as they try to prove the point of all this
pointlessness of fear and numb you draw
In deep to close inside yourself and hidden in the search
for purpose and applause.
But your quest is going nowhere dear, your life is silent
sitting stuck on pause.

And still you fly low to the ground
with lips sewed shut voicing no sound
of all the wonder that you've found
in your own head
lest they shoot you down.

Those lions' claws are telling you that happiness is
nothing but a slice
between the time before and next time, that's
the piece of time for which you pay the price

It's the slice of life so sharp you bleed, the moment
viewed in stark relief
The few times that you felt the need a second there
to show your teeth
It's the blood you lapped from your side with your lion's tongue
that tastes of rage and grief.

These beasts inside you disagree
that anything you've ever done
is worth a conversation over tea
Why don't you cut the ties that bind your tongue
And find out where your heart has gone
And be for once what you once thought you'd be.
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