Posted by: S. N. Harrell | August 25, 2013

Grief in Acts

This contains explicit language. So if you are sensitive to the f*** word … back away from this poem.
This is also pretty lengthy. So, if you are sensitive to length … back the f*** away from this poem.
 
PRE-GRIEF
I like my usual (or semi-usual) sunny disposition.
I laugh … a lot
And my usual moroseness doesn’t creep up
It doesn’t knocked me down
It doesn’t sneak in
Hugging me tight in its grasp
Disabling me from moving
I laugh … a lot
And my used-to-be-usual moroseness stays away
 
GRIEF FINDING ME
Yet, today grief found me.
Grief told me something that hurts me deeply
Grief said, “______ passed away”
6 months ago it was my stepfather
Today it was a friend of mine
 
I never met this friend face-to-face
BUT I’ve known this friend all of my womanhood
 
Grief found me
Kicked me in the gut
Spat on me
And insisted I stop laughing
 
WALLOWING IN GRIEF
I knew this friend was ill and sometimes in some pain
I know that life throws shit at us
And we are supposed to roll with the punches
Dodge those loogies, spitballs, and precisely positioned roundhouse kicks to the cabeza
We’re supposed to just ride the waves
We’re supposed to surf
 
And instead we drown
And get the holy shit beat out of us!
At least I do.
 
PERSEVERATING GRIEF (WALLOWING)
Having never met my beloved friend face-to-face
One could say that we were strangers
Maybe we were strange
But not to each other
Maybe we were strange
But not to each other
Maybe we were strange
And now we will never have the chance
Never be able to unstrange ourselves
Never; never; never
My brain perseverates
My grief perseverates
Repeating over, and over, and over, and over
 
I try to think; I try to think; I try to think
And I am stuck
 
I try to cry
I try to feel
And I am in shock
 
I try to believe and I am frozen
I don’t know why but I feel guilty for crying
We never met face-to-face
My friend passed away
I feel guilty for crying
And I feel like not crying is an injustice
In just … in just … in just … in just
 
I am stuck again; and again and again and
My brain perseverates
And I am stuck again
How I have been struck AGAIN
With this fucking pest called death
FUCK DEATH
FUCK GRIEF
Sometimes I feel like screaming fuck life
But then I am stuck again
When I am struck again
 
Grief persverates
Repeating over, and over, and over
Again
 
GRIEF, AM I BREATHING?
I try hard to think
I am thinking
I am feeling
I am believing
I am breathing.
 
I am breathing … wow …
I am breathing; breathing; breathing
In and out … I am breathing … or am I?
 
BACK AGAIN
It’s back in my face
It’s back in my space
It’s back inflicting on me
This inability to think
This stuck
This struck
This FUCK DEATH, GRIEF, PAIN, TEARS, BULLSHIT
That screams at me for being stuck
FUCK!
 
I perseverate.
I repeat; again and again …
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck!
Fuck!!!
Fuck!!!!!
FUCK!!!!!
 
PURGING GRIEF
And so I default to something I have not defaulted to in a long time
I isolate
I cry
I write to purge myself of this
I write to scream out what is screaming in
I write and write
until words come
and they make sense
and they don’t
 
I write and
 I write and
I write and
because death and grief have reared
their fucking ugly heads
and struck me
Again
FUCK!
Advertisements

Leave a comment, critique, or opinion. Thanks.

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

Categories

%d bloggers like this: