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Image for the poem Where my wild things are...

Where my wild things are...


It crawls and slithers
picking - picking
reopening mental scabs
that never seem to heal,
quite right

Echoes intermittently reverberate
punctuating emptiness
honed claws scratch from inside
out
hurting again
that habitual hurt

Uneasiness leads to
nervousness that slips
without warning
fueling a propensity...
for
inexplicable panic

Pressures— made or born
put-upon
wired in ways
that cross confuse
tangling thoughts
which contort actions
intended or spontaneous

Hidden rustling
between blackish
nooks and crannies,
where light penetrates not
finds an endless harvesting

Additions to the collection
building vast amounts
of utterly damaged
emotional artillery
Binging...from a blackened shadow

Animalistically crude
and ferociously wild
prowls dangerous
all these, my abyssal feral monsters

Where drifting amidst dank insecurity
so starved.... hungering...
is one reality
of brutal beckoning
lying underneath the surface

So, I hold tight to strength
will power and a learned understanding



Keeping lean,
my wild things.... roaming.









Author's Note
For the Mental Illness and Poetry comp
https://deepundergroundpoetry.com/forum/competitions/read/12167/
Inspired by my mind's much darker take of "Where the Wild Things Are".... Which is one of my favorite children's books that I used to be really scared by when I was very very little.
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