Fear salts wounds
knifed by zealots
who march in factory
parades of cloned
tongued pushers
of caustic positivity.
There are times
the rosy picture
can’t and shouldn’t
remain framed
on a face that
only wants to fall
into the snotty
blabbering of broken.
Strong doesn’t mean
you can always stand,
never doubt, never question.
It is feeling your knees give out,
the taste of bile, weary raging curses
at the rain of agony storming
through your spirit…It is crawling
across Jell-o circumstances
trying to breathe your way
into the next hour.
©Susie Clevenger 2022
It has been a long three weeks of agony with my oldest daughter's new health emergency and it continues. Poetry is my journal, so this is a page from mine.
