Me (a poem)


by Lola

Who is this “me”?

the pieces are falling,

skittering, sprawling

all over the place

at an unsettling pace

Who am I to be?


How am I to feel?


feelings luring and baiting

ready and waiting

to make me reel.


What is the time?

Past, future, present

with fraudulent intent

mix up to confuse me

to bruise and abuse me

outlasting the crime.


When will it end?

the strength-sapping fighting

my attempt at re-writing

this future foregone?

I’m not yet done.


My mind is unsteady

but I am not ready

to bend



2 Comments (+add yours?)

  1. nobodysreadingme
    Jan 21, 2013 @ 10:41:58

    Not ready to bend is good. But it might, just now and then, be better to bend than to break.
    Don’t beat yourself up, the world can do that job.
    Confucius said that. Or maybe it was me.

    • Lola
      Jan 21, 2013 @ 12:31:38

      Yeah, you’re right, better to bend than to break. But sometimes I’m fed up of bending all the time. I try to take your (or Confucius’, lol) advice, though, and not beat myself up. Thank you.

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