The Reveal

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The Reveal

Don’t look now-

I’m invisible!

I know you can see me
but I have made myself very small
I’m hardly here at all.

Look at me now-

I only reveal what is there!

Whatever it is
it can’t affect me
you will see.

Don’t look now-

I’m a freak!

I can only hope to hide
I can’t conform
I will never be the norm.

© Rebecca Sanchez 2015

Shared with my friends at dVerse~Poets Pub. My artwork and a poem from the past.

The Poet’s Dilemma

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The Poet’s Dilemma

Days and nights spent crafting words to perfection
fueled by cheap whiskey and non-filtered cigarettes
cut off from the very world he writes about.

His prose clever and filled with profound images
the darling of society
everyone wanted his company
designers gave him the finest garments
he lived in a stone mansion with a beautiful wife;
but on the inside…

The poet’s soul is tinted with the blackest black
he has no words left
his muse left him with no note
empty with no more to give.

He sits in his library at his big ornate desk
the glow of the candles outlining his frown
considering the writer’s block that has silenced him
feeling lost.

He inhales, his cigarette glowing red in the dark
he opens his desk drawer to get more whiskey
his handgun next to the bottle.

He pours himself a drink
as he has done so many times before
it burns as it travels down his throat
the loss of words was killing him
destroying him!

He put the handgun to his head and pulled the trigger.

© Rebecca Sanchez 2014

Shared with Poets United.

The Woebegone Man

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The Woebegone Man

The woebegone man
just sits and sighs
wringing his hands
avoiding all eyes.

Too numb to feel
escaping instead
too hard to deal
rocks in his head.

A man who says yes
although he means no
yet no one would guess
’cause he doesn’t know.

Tragically depicted
he’s pale as the dead
chronically addicted
chain smoking dread.

He will never know why
depressed with no plans
no pretty blue skies
for the woebegone man.

© Rebecca Sanchez 2016

Written for dVerse~Poets Pub.

The Twist

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The Twist

I took the bait
a twist of fate
there was too much
heaped on my plate
it’s now too late
to clean the slate
the twist it made
me turn to hate.
A real bad trait
I’m that low-rate
in a terrible state.

© Rebecca Sanchez 2016

Written with dVerse~Poets Pub.

Exposed

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Exposed

Losing face…exposed!
I once again compose this weak flesh
into something impenetrable
as I construct my new disguise.
Hammering smooth the offending lines
mouth set just so-
eyes placed to hoodwink
the thickness of my skin gauged.
Confident of the mask
feeling somewhat copasetic.

© Rebekka Sanchez 2015

Shared with Poets United.