I need to find a way to deflect the pain,
slip into the tranquility
of quilted, rock-solid shock absorbers
or some hydraulic padded cave
that will cushion the bumps of these hills and valleys
we desperately try to ignore,
as I sit in my cluttered corner
shoveling words distilled by poetry,
but somehow you see my grunge,
hear my grunts
feel my disdain
for our tangled clouds turned grey.
If only my heart ran on all four cylinders
fueled not by my bruised, corroded, labyrinthed thoughts,
if only I could live in the moment
and borrow your shock absorbers,
they seem to work so well for you.
Why do some self-medicate, I mean it’s an option, but certainly life provides other shock absorbers — maybe that's what writing and poetry are for me — a pressure release valve or some intrinsic shock absorber. — Connie Song
Thank you to editor Franco Amati and Scuzzbucket publication for such a creative and engaging space on Medium writing.
© Connie Song 2023. All Rights Reserved.
