Categories
Life Poetry

Metamorphosis

I am dying
a little more each day
until the time when
I am no longer
No longer sane
no longer safe
no longer here
Until the day when
I will be someone else
somewhere else
and no longer
me
here
I can’t tell you
how to find me or
where to find me
because I don’t know
where there is
but when you find it
you’ll find me
there
and no longer
here.

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This poem by Suzette Seveny is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0 International License.

Categories
Life Poetry

In Hiding

I loved a man, and then I lost,
and now I have to pay the cost
of life alone in solitude;
a constant dark’ning of the mood.

It’s not the loss that I can’t face
but haunting mem’ries of loving days,
so filled with lies and subterfuge
‘twould make another want to lose.

Perhaps I trusted much in haste
and now I stand amidst the waste
and try to face reality
and slay the dragons to set me free.

But still I’m bound with all my chains,
and I’ll learn to cope with all the pain
and agony I feel inside –
there is no haven; I cannot hide.

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This post by Suzette Seveny is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0 International License.
Categories
Poetry

Broken

Lying broken on the floor
trying not to feel the pain
of all my bruises
and deep lacerations.
Trying not to open my eyes
so I won’t have to see
all the carnage I allowed
and the damage I caused,
Keeping my eyes closed
so I won’t have to look
at the accumulation of scars
from every day of my life.
Lying still and waiting
to find the strength
to rise above
and continue on
despite my wounds
and all the scars
that are invisible to see.

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This post by Suzette Seveny is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0 International License.
Categories
Poetry

A Mother’s Love

I remember when I was a child,
being envious of my friends,
who would run home and tell Mom
about their day;
slamming the screen door
and the noise interrupting
the spring sound of awak’ning.
Standing in a warm kitchen,
apple pie baking and she,
with a whiff of flour on her cheek,
radiant with smile
as she listened to the story of the home run
that almost was.
Seeing me standing there on the breadth,
she flashed that smile of understanding,
and scolded us both for running so hard in the heat.
Then she sat us down
at a white pine tree kitchen table
to a treat of ice-cold milk and cake.
She, silently singing to herself,
today’s a treat to tomorrow’s desserts.
I knew she understood how I felt;
a small child so alone,
and she, another one’s mom,
with enough love left over
to treat me as her own.
Thanks Mom.

I remember often my foster home,
I being fortunate in my time.
Time sometimes spent searching
for another one’s love – you see,
I don’t have those childhood memories of a mother,
Mine left for the other side of the tree.
I only remember her
as seen in other kids’ eyes,
and I realize –
that mothers the world over,
are really all the same.
they love all children,
somehow never forgetting a child’s name, so –
thank you Mom,
every Mom,
everywhere.

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This post by Suzette Seveny is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0 International License.
Categories
Poetry

My Prayer

Lord, please don’t let me love again
I’ve done it much too often;
each time I end up with a pain
that words can never soften.
The last time really shattered me;
I’m not quite recovered yet.
Perhaps a hundred years or two
will help me to forget.
So please dear Lord because so much
has happened to me before,
don’t let me fall in love again.


Well… maybe just once more.

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This post by Suzette Seveny is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0 International License.
Categories
Poetry

Hot & Hazy

Every afternoon, I sit and sweat
and my breathing becomes heavy
My vision is misty
and I tell myself
So this is what hell feels like
I’m not too old
Just Old enough to remember
Never NEEDING
air conditioning
when It was only for the rich
and privileged and now
it’s only for those
who want to live
and breathe
We die in winter without heat
We die in summer without cooling
The A/C even died in heaven
the clouds slowly disappeared
Everything around is slowly dying
Burning up
And we need cooling to live
It sucks being this old
‘Cause I’m old enough to remember.

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This post by Suzette Seveny is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0 International License.
Categories
Poetry

It’s Hard

It’s lonely when I’m alone
and it’s hard to be alone;
it makes me crazy
and I start spinning
out of control.
It’s hard.
But it’s hard to not be alone,
to be with somebody;
it makes me crazy
and I start spinning
out of control.
It’s hard.
So if you ask me
is it you or me,
it’s probably not you;
I think it’s me.
It’s hard to be me.

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This post by Suzette Seveny is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0 International License.
Categories
Poetry

Unsent Email

Every time you hurt me with your words,
I wrote an email
telling you
how your words made me feel
but I never sent it.
Every time you put me down,
mocked me, belittled me,
or insulted me,
I wrote an email
telling you
what an asshole you are
but I never sent it.

Every time you pushed me away,
I wrote an email
pointing out
why you’re alone
and lonely,
but I never sent it.
Today
I looked
at my saved but unsent emails.
Today
I saw
a pattern of behaviour
that I could not accept,
because I am worth more,
much more
than that.
Today
I deleted
those unsent emails.

Today I realized
you aren’t worth it.
Today I finally understood

you never were. 

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This post by Suzette Seveny is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0 International License.
Categories
Poetry

This Is Not Life

They asked if I was depressed
and I told them the truth;
of course I am –
how could I not be.
Humans are social creatures
and I am a human,
therefore I am a social creature,
and now I’m forced to live my life
In front of these monitors.
I can only see other people and places;
I cannot touch,
I cannot feel,
I cannot taste
or smell.
This is not living.
A robot in my chair
would be more productive –
and it would never get depressed.
Of course I am depressed I said;
how can I be otherwise?

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This post by Suzette Seveny is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0 International License.
Categories
Poetry

The Truth Will Set Me Free

The truth will set me free, they said
and then they told me a bunch of lies.
They said I wasn’t pretty enough,
thin enough,
old enough,
or smart enough;
educated enough,
or rich enough.
I wasn’t connected enough
or young enough,
that I’d never amount to anything,
that I’d gone as far as I could go
for far too long.
And I believed them.
But then I looked in the mirror
and saw all my strengths,
my insights,
and wisdom.
I saw my determination
and perseverance,
my dedication
and compassion,
and I realized they were right;
the truth had set me free.

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This post by Suzette Seveny is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0 International License.