The Cry Of The Creative

 

I hate feeling this way

Trapped. That’s the fact.

Trapped in the desires, and ideals of society.

The warped ideas of what life should be made of

That’s what their dreams are made of,

That’s what their hopes are shaped of

Their past was paved of

Not mine

I wish to be free

 

I hate the person that I see

When I see, me

My reflection looking back

With longing eyes

Hoping that one day,

I would find a way

To walk boldly to where I belong.

Not knowing, the full, of where that is …

But knowing, most definitely,

That it is not here.

Not Here!

 

Body trapped in a rhythm of 9 to 5

Bills sky high,

Dreams piled high,

But never accomplished

Cars and wives, Children and houses

And Spouses

That’s your theme

That’s your dream

Not Mine!

 

I’m a ‘Creative’

A checkered pattern made from balls of yarn

I am more than just a form. I’m the storm.

The rainstorm.

Vapours of water stuffed in black clouds

Ripe for bursting

Vision oozing from my every pore

Watering the thirsting

An iron flower boiled in emotion

The lotion,

for forgotten hopes and dreams

The unlived dream

 

But where am I now, Trapped. Stopped.

Rejected for the way I am,

By ideas of what you think I should be

Fighting to unbox, the boxed society

Hoping that one day,

I would find a way

To walk boldly to where I belong.

– Not, where you want me!

But, where I belong.

Not knowing, the full, of where that is …

But knowing, most definitely,

That it is not here.

Not Here!

No way near here.

written by:

Joan Maynard

 

 

Hi everyone, I am Joan. A small woman with a big voice and a big personality. I have been blessed with many talents poetry, music, designing, but my favorite is the gift of teaching, being my #1 joy. I hope you are blessed by the content on this site. So God bless you!Connect With Me On Facebook

Please note: I reserve the right to delete comments that are offensive or off-topic.