Give Me a Poem about the Human Condition

By Brooke Hyatt

Give me a poem with meaning.
Give me a poem with words that pull at the heart.
That makes me feel, that makes me think.
Give me a poem that changes my life.
Give me a poem about yourself.
Give me a poem from experience.

Poetry, makes me want to dig into my soul
and unearth the pain that has webbed itself
into my veins. Makes me want to lick
at my wounds. To open and then re-apply
the stitches in my heart.

Poetry is for the injured. An elixir and reminder
all in one. For the ones who have suffered, the ones
who have recovered, they write to put their trauma
into structured stanzas.
Poetry, makes me depressed.

How do I write about
lying in bed
staring at the thin strip of light
sneaking under my bedroom door
wondering
if he would come in
tonight.

How can I consider
line breaks when
I think about
the beginning
when he asked me
to sit in his
lap
and I didn’t want to.

How do I describe
the first time
I was so overwhelmed
with the pain in my heart
that the only relief
I could get
was slicing
the skin
of my arm
with a nail
I hid
in my
room.

It’s too heavy
the ink isn’t flowing
from my pen.
The imagery isn’t right
the words are not good enough
the meaning, doesn’t make sense.

With all of this inside me it’s hard to write about
flowers.
Spring.
Love.
The comfort of a storm
lingering in the air
the smell before it comes
How the wind slightly
blows.

Poetry isn’t weightless
it is saturated
in words, commas,
and lines.

I could write.
I just can’t
put it
in to
words.