get up and go
Lately I seem to feel the weight of anything and everything I own. I feel like taking it all and throwing it into a giant waste bin. I would, if it weren't for regret. If I didn't have to buy these things all over again. Because I need jackets, sweaters, and shoes on my feet. I need books to read, and shampoo for my hair. All these things....I "need".
And I will always want. I am addicted to fashion. My body is thrilled by well designed clothing, and I will always feel a need to own more. This poem came spitting out. It's not beautiful, or even well written; it's stream of consciousness. It's a moment. It's my overwhelmed body spilling itself out into awkward words. Like right now. My mind working too quickly to think tangible thoughts. It's still poetry.
The objects
Hold too many memories for me
They create a weight in my body
And I feel as if I’m lifting them
Taking them with me
Every step I take
The weight of them
Pulling at my heart
They are my weakness
Moments of materialism
Quick fixes
Temporary solutions
The shirt that made me feel
Like someone else
When you told me
I looked beautiful
I see it around me
And I want it all gone
The photographs
The clothes
The ones that bring on woes
I wear them on my back
Painting my conscience
A dreary black
My head beats like a drum
My time in this country
Almost done
A list of things to do
A sea of memories
Faces losing meaning
Is it my heart
Or the clock that’s beating?
And I will always want. I am addicted to fashion. My body is thrilled by well designed clothing, and I will always feel a need to own more. This poem came spitting out. It's not beautiful, or even well written; it's stream of consciousness. It's a moment. It's my overwhelmed body spilling itself out into awkward words. Like right now. My mind working too quickly to think tangible thoughts. It's still poetry.
The objects
Hold too many memories for me
They create a weight in my body
And I feel as if I’m lifting them
Taking them with me
Every step I take
The weight of them
Pulling at my heart
They are my weakness
Moments of materialism
Quick fixes
Temporary solutions
The shirt that made me feel
Like someone else
When you told me
I looked beautiful
I see it around me
And I want it all gone
The photographs
The clothes
The ones that bring on woes
I wear them on my back
Painting my conscience
A dreary black
My head beats like a drum
My time in this country
Almost done
A list of things to do
A sea of memories
Faces losing meaning
Is it my heart
Or the clock that’s beating?
posted by Gillian Young at 5:41 PM
2 Comments:
We seem to have landed in a similar head space today. I, too, am feeling the burden of my "mountains of things" and my fear of needing them again (maybe needing them more) if I let them go, though nothing I own is fashionable. I want to pack the dog, the cat and everything to do with writing into the car and hit the road. Let the landlord deal with the rest. I love your prose and poetry. Take me to Paris with your words.
Not awkward at all. What I read was tangible and relatable. It was fantastic. Yes, please take me to Paris too...
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