Struggle ( a really long poem)

Struggle

By, Wendiann Alfieri

As the wind whips my hair

As my feet try to stay grounded

It appears my anxiety is unfounded

My feet are buried even beneath this glass

To make sure I stay here

The pain doesn’t even feel bad

It’s better than flying around with debri In the wind

Trying to carry me

The farthest away

I dig my feet into the glass

Sweat runs down my back

Part of me wishes

The wind would give up

That the earth won’t make me sink

Either way I will bleed

So take me to my element

the water is so clear

Let me float there

Let me swim down deep

With a tail and folklore fantasy

I don’t like the garbage on the ground

Or the smell of sewage and the swirling plastic bags the wind carries

The fire in me wants to get even

I just want to be in a clear sea

swim down deep

Caution I must reap,

As I know the fishes is not where I want to sleep

I think of time as one moment

One Big Bang

And everything is a cycle

Everything bounces off each other

It’s like dominoes

No matter how you place them they all fall consecutively

they end up what they started as

A handful of tiles

It doesn’t matter the beauty in between, the thought you can make something so delicately just to knock it down

It started one way

A handful of tiles

No matter your creativity or ideas

It ends the same way

As a handful of tileS

It teaches and builds patience and strategy whether placing them upward to knock down or playing the game strategically

It started as a handful of tiles

it ends the same way

I am just starting to dream

Through this crazy world

I’ve done what I need to for the day

On my pillow my head soon lays

The morning roles on

The kids jump in the bed

“ Let us go outside, to our Childness we shall wed

Parting words and favors mom, what do you have to provide us with luck?”

Damn, sounds like something fun

I try to sit up

Exiting the sleep kingdom

I try but I can’t

My head keeps making me think I woke up and I get up in this dream that I think is real

Because of its very appeal

Everytime I get up

It snaps me back to me waking up

It goes on and on

“Waking up” full appetite

Starved once again

Just please brain,

Let me have my peace

I’m a writer you see

brain I am ready for combat

Before I even draw my pen

You make me go sleep again

An idea a start

One want to explore

Then again,

I wake up back in the dream loop

Please brain,

Make up your mind,

Am I up

Is there a reason for my tired eyes?

Let me journey with my words

A shield for me is my sword

I wake up eventually

After the repetition has to cease

Then I go to break the dam

Of waking up finally

My notebook ready

Wondering what fiction to make reality

Most importantly:

I’ve got a mind to feed

The hunger that wrestles and starves you even when doing its bidding

The cycle of curiosity

Fire flys from my hand

Heat building up

Writing without a plan

Candle flames are details

All I’ve got so far are the flames of ideas that rise high

They push on

They push on to get to the message

The fine print they are blind to

As well as me as the wind flows through

The flames go everywhere

Engulfing every independent thought

Into one long writing rush

The flames grow so much

I’ve lost the point in my words

Here comes the rain

To put out the flames

All is left of the beauty

Is torn paper and ink brooding

I am ashamed

Where shall I go?

Surely not to start more flames here below

The people that were gentle fire

Candles drawing you into desire

Madness drove them to melt

I run to some stairs

Going up to a tower

Locking myself away from this

Unnecessary power

wind does not fall

It whips around

Circles of wax not seen on ground

The smell rises

Most bitter sweet

Original ideas wasted away

Taking away the taste I long for

Trickery of mint

Pine trees

Apples

Sugar

Vanilla

Cinnamon

All their own wisp

Flying past this tower

To an upward abyss

My days of staying in a room

Makes me forget when the flowers will bloom

This room is small

Filled with looks

I tried so hard to cover me

Loss of sight it very well caused

As I sit in darkness

My confusion cooks

I know the truth

I want my sight back

To read and write

more books

I fall asleep a pounding in my heart

I don’t belong here

Up too high with an empty start

I must descend to show the earth of my content

That the Fire has disappeared from the hearths

The light has come on and I find nothing

Except a sharpie, moving

Rolling over

Stops with a start

I pick up the sharpie

I look at the walls

They are so plain

Inner demons I can slay

All through ruminating about today and the next

I take my marker

Filling the rest

Symbols and letters not coherently bound

If this tower crumbles no one will see

This rage of pain

ugly beauty

I get tired amongst harsh words with no purpose

This is the state I live in

The state of the foolish

I crumble onto the floor

Why don’t I know what I want to say anymore?

The sun goes down

The air is sharp

Like glass I started stuck as

Trying to close this stories arc

There’s one thing left

One thing you see

Where can I live and create my own

Identity

No more worrying about others fears

The clock ticks once

For everyone

I need to part

I need to be

I can’t run downstairs

I’ve done a good job of locking myself up here

I’m frustrated

I’m beat

Just one more night

Till I reach validity

The fishes I hear from my castle afar

I wake up again to a sky full of stars

I’m in my room

That No one wants to see

I’m just here

Making art in my dreams

I hear their song at this moment

I hear the sea

The waves the crash

The rocks

The aftermath

I blink

I never had a choice

I kept sabotaging my voice

In the end I know where to go

It happens to be down below

One I will end up in, though clear it is not

I know I can’t lie

So the owls hoot outside my window

One last time

Looking down nothing is equal

I may not see time or life the ways others want to

I can’t appease them all

I never truly wanted to

In a tower above all else

We are all but from above

The only thing you see is a passing turtle dove

A writers false identity

They write one way but don’t always feel

That wholesomeness for others to see

In private we write anything

Guidelines be damned is what I say

Image isn’t everything

There’s nowhere else to be

My soul is ready my mind is set

I run down the stairs of this tower I make

Another step I can take

I will mourn the words of praise and hope

I still think

Varying things

Postitve negative whose going to count

Every attempt to get my feet on the ground

Be one with the others

Who use laptops and pencils

Able to erase

Whatever doesn’t please their mates

As I burst out so does the lock and key

I made these steps

To myself

To be

Barriers are broken

As the waves crash and pull

I step in the sand

The water rushes from me

Chases just as fast

This is where I belong

No matter what I pass

The fishes and water

Welcome me home

I go out to the undertow

Beneath it isn’t dark the way we think

It feels calming

It feels easy

I feel free

I can rule myself

however I want

This is my peace

To be immersed in exploration

I need help through a journey

Of the worlds secrets

I can share mine with the currents rushing by

I just whisper and know

Water is necessary

When summer rises and the children play

Let my message be on display

A song to drag you in

Isn’t that true, for a writers purpose to captivate and push beneath the surface

The roots of the ocean

If people don’t care

Let it be

Rest assured

My thoughts embrace everything

Simply

Don’t travel

Across the water and ground

About something you’ve already found

You’ll just feel lost if you already know the pieces

You spoil the journey

Just have patience

Even through your yearning

The intentions are wild

Ripped and torn

Burned in fire

Words are shed

By making sure at some point they’ve bled

The smoke tornados around

I sleep peacefully

With the fishes

My heart and soul

Closing in on my riches

A Brick house that rebuilds itself

No matter what the damage

Only one person knows

Everyday The building implodes

This person is me

This is my plight

Rebuilding takes a long time

Too much damage has been done inside

The only reason I rebuild

Is for other people to be reassured

Strong people are easily ignored

If they saw the furniture ripped to shred

The holes from punching a door

The smell of smoke that suffocates me

People would get concerned

Only it’s them with whom they truly care

Guilt can be for selfish reasons

It drags you down no matter what

Feeling guilty for someone else

Is sometimes only for the good of yourself

Right/wrong

I like to think I’m different

But I’m not

We all have selfless selfish thoughts

So I write the wrongs

Figurative ideas, honesty that’s cutthroat

I’ve worried about suppressing and losing my ideas as expressed so far in this poem

As I love to put out ideas

Still, I feel not always proudly

Perfect isn’t up anyone’s ally

I long for it

I long to be seen

Just as much as the actors on screen

Sometimes I know I write too loudly

As I share my ideas, my curious passion

My problem is perfection

It’s a prison

The bars on my cell won’t let me listen

To me just wanting to write for me

In my mind i don’t always realize that

Not everything I write needs to be publicized

Let your own words slip through

In life, you should always listen first to you