Monday Confession

It will be several days of confession.
I have starved myself.
I have been hard and violent.

Each doctor takes note, takes opinion,
takes my blood and stirs
it in his coffee.

It’s Monday. 9:30 A.M.
The sterile tile has been examined,
the hard carpet, despised!
I twist dismay into the carpet fiber
with one foot,
the other taps out
awkward silence.

Sunday was a long day of struggle.
I ate out of the palm of a man,
tugged at his whiskers and
kissed him.
He had a candlestick, long like a lady,
using its light to sort me out.
I had only borrowed trust,
I had to protect myself.

He became a smoky tantrum,
a raging death match forcing truth
out of my swollen mouth.
It was a Sunday of ruin.

Confession came, thick bees swarming
my tongue,
a blur of black and yellow before
I fell hard out of life.
I woke up to this Monday, a dream,
a foggy span of blasting conscience .

And this is just the start.

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15 thoughts on “Monday Confession

  1. tangible details, an emotion-filled voice, and images that are simply stunning and powerful, just a great poem, easy to connect with and relate to.

  2. Wow, you just keep getting better and better. This is totally fantastic…and I always love your style of writing….

  3. Your words are so graphic, the hard parts are going to give me nightmares. One of the best word painting poets I have yet read in our time. “…..takes my blood and stirs it in his coffee…” very graphic. I hope your competing for fame and fortune with your material, you’re really fantastic. Kudos to you young lady….

  4. A powerful work, intense with the heart of humility, and self searching. I love many expressions, especially, “Sunday was a long day of struggle. I ate out of the palm of a man, tugged at his whiskers, and kissed him.” Incredible! Love it!

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