archives, poetry

My Wild Heart. {poetry}

 

I feel suffocated inside.

How long do I have to hide?

Put up this charade

Smile as if nothing’s wrong

When everything in me wants to run.

I feel called to a higher purpose.

Yet every time I reach for it,

I fall.

Did I make the wrong decisions

Or am I just telling myself lies?

Why can’t I seem to fly?

Should I have jumped when I held

Or has my time just not come?

Am I doomed to this life

Mundane living paycheck to paycheck?

I just always believed life was so much more than that.

I ran away to heal,

To soar like the eagles.

My wings were clipped

And I wanted new ones.

And just when I learned to fly again

The net came swooping over me.

I believed that I was meant to do something great.

I believed that my life was meant for more than the norm.

Yet I just can’t seem to take off.

What am I doing wrong?

Or am I just wrong?

Am I meant to live this life just like everyone else?

Why can’t I stay free?

My wild heart deserves to roam.

Am I doomed to run in circles the rest of my life

Dreaming a dreamer’s dream

Yet never getting off the ground?

I thought I had it,

Enough fight in me.

Enough stamina to never give up

Now I just don’t know how to keep going

Those who love me care,

But they don’t believe.

They just don’t dream as big as me.

And the more I’m around them,

The less I believe.

I wish I could rewind,

Take the chances I should have.

But my heart just wasn’t ready.

I was too broken to see

The opportunities that lay before me.

Now I’m back where I started

Alone and crying.

Trying to fight but losing every battle I wage.

I am powerless and weak

Every door locking,

There is no way out.

I have nothing.

Nowhere to go.

I try to hold the faith.

That God is near

And has something big in store.

But honestly is that really true?

Or am I just hoping for something more than what I should?

I just can’t keeping going.

A dreamer’s dream,

I just can’t do this anymore.

Oh right, this is the part where I’m expected to say how I triumph

How things will get better, but the truth is,

I’m not sure they will.

This is not that kind of poem.

You fight and you fight

Only to end in despair.

No one comes to help because

No one truly is there.

Every door I come to is locked

Or only grants me a peek

Then laughs in my face when I try to break through.

A father who cannot stand for his daughter to disagree

A mother who does not see the woman her daughter has become

Friends who refuse to see the truth of her wild heart

No one is there

I am alone

The woman I knew who guided me

Has now lived in heaven for two years

Every day I miss her

Every day I wish I could just talk to her

She would tell me what to do

She would tell me where I’m right and where I’m wrong

Now I live in silence

Not knowing which way is up and which way is down.

God is near but never makes a sound

I feel His presence yet no answer to my anguish

I wish I could sit and talk to Him

Have a conversation like my grandmother and I did

Where I talk and He talks back

Guiding me, telling me to hold on

Or go this way, not that way

I just wish I knew and wasn’t guessing.

I wish I had a clear sign.

I feel like I’m called to a different purpose

But every time I try, I fail

Not knowing whether the fault is time or mine

We are taught to be positive in all circumstances

Taught to be happy and perform a charade

Taught to hope and have faith

But where are those people when all faith and hope is gone

And you can’t seem to get it back no matter how hard you try?

Either disappeared or criticizing you

Because you’re wrong for not having faith.

You’re the weak one and should be ashamed.

This poem is about that moment

Showcasing it in all its ugliness and grandeur

And praying that somehow maybe I’m not alone.

***

Karen Kirby is a southerner who loves theater and poetry. She believes these are the two best ways to spotlight problems and emotions in the world that are often swept under the rug. Today’s society does not always allow a person to express their deep emotions or feelings. They are often deemed ‘sensitive’ or ‘crazy’ even for expressing how they truly feel. Yet in poetry and theater one can express these deep emotions without ridicule. This is why she writes. So that those who feel as deeply as her never feel alone.

***

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