The Other “Me?”

Doors slammed in my face. People that I cared for defaced my trust. I was left in pieces. They moved on while I was on my knees, begging for mercy. Tears blinded my eyes. My soul nearly died. My heart fainted. My courage failed. The fire inside me darkened. I fell in the rabbit hole, a long drop that the hurt bones and joints.

I found myself in a wilderness. I looked up. A figure stood in front of me. Bewildered at the image, I froze. It was some other self. Me? That self stood tall & proud. I examined her. The word “Love, ” in golden letters, was engraved on the forehead.

She showed me her bare arms. The silver inscription on her right arm read, “Power” & on the other, “Discipline.” I breathed deeply. She stretched out a hand to me. I looked at her with hopeful eyes. But, when she leaned in, she killed me. We became one. We both lived and died. I dug out to a new horizon.

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11 thoughts on “The Other “Me?”

          1. I’m glad you found my work puzzling and that’s what I thrive in challenging the reader to open up their sense of such poetry.

            I use to have friends who said my work is different and on a level they we’re scared that I was probably on some kind of drugs. I assured them I wasn’t and I’m sober and straight edge. And I had to drop those friends because they we’re on drugs themselves and they we’re closed minded. I can’t be around people like that. All positive.

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            1. Puzzling is a good thing, especially in writing. It also depends on the reader of course. And it never occurred to me, “he’s on something.” lol For sure, it’s different, and I like it. Personally, I don’t consider myself a poet. I don’t call myself that. But I give a try to help me as a writer because it helps to zoom in on mistakes and fix them.

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