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TooMuch,TooRaw,TooReal,TooQuick

SusanMarie
SusanMarie Broadcast Journalist, Writer, Poet, Spoken Word Poet, Author
almost 3 years Buffalo, NY, United States Story
Too Much, Too Raw, Too Real, Too Quick


Too much,

too raw,

too real,

too quick.

Life bursts

wide open,

like a wound festering,

gaping, infected.


Life is like birthing babies,

again and again,

within seconds,

never having time

to recover,

once.


Life is a bullet

breaking skin,

hitting the heart

deep within chambers

of orchestras playing,

sustaining lungs.


Life is time, clicking

the clock goes


tick tock -


in the deepest, darkest parts of my soul

the bleeding is endless,

like the ever changing faces

of Mother Nature.


Time is short and long,

simultaneous,

when attempting to maintain

some semblance of sanity,

in a world gone

quite insane.


And the soul takes flight

every single moment of breath,

like that of the eagle,

yet grounded,

on Earth.


This mundane society is killing me,

softly.


The constant incessant chattering of tongues

that do not recognize my speech

stare at me -

wild eyed in wonder,

like that painting, The Scream -


I stand, horrified and shocked,

turning my back

on millions of children

screaming -

millions of people

hurting -

billions of souls

crying out -


love,

love,

please

show

me

love.


Oh, but the birds, wildlife

even the trees -

the sky knows my name

and calls to me at dusk,

to show me its bright eyes

and diamonds dancing

in the endless abyss of the universe.


The mighty hand of wind

changes direction,

in milliseconds

causing my neck

to crack,

spine misaligned,

a constant whiplash

of my senses,

reeling into dimensions,

I have not yet traveled

and have no choice

but to stand and face

myself.


For I am woman, strong,

born of the cracked and wounded hands

of immigrants,

who built this land

we now reside on,

stolen from others

now sacrificed in vain.


I am not the woman I was

five minutes ago.


Dear Great Creator,

crown my head

with great golden angels,

and send me into places of peace,

to meadows and sunshine,

to deep waters of dolphins diving,

and the vast free wilderness

of Africa.


For my body is tired,

yet my soul is exploding

supernovas of senses

tethered in this human shell,

my head feels

like it is about to crack

wide open,

and all the secrets of this place we stand upon

are to be known,

yet my feeble human mouth

is not enough

to report my discoveries.


I need ammunition.


Please send recon,

a backup,

something to tell me

that I am not alone,

to tell me

that my blood is not spilled in vain,

to let me know that all of my breaths

have not been wasted for nothing.


I need a sign,

Morse code,

a telegraph,

take me back to the days of trade,

cover my body in pelts of wildebeests,

and sit me down by fireside.


Explain to me

why I have chosen

this path for myself.


My dear Lord,

I understand

far too much,

too raw,

too real,

too quick.


Life

is like birthing

babies,

again and again,

within seconds,

never having time

to recover,

once.


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SusanMarie
Broadcast Journalist, Writer, Poet, Spoken Word Poet, Author

Broadcast Journalist, Writer, Poet, Spoken Word Poet, Author

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