Sometimes, our memories leave more than scars.

{via.}

Destructive torrent of memories,
Spinning, swirling, spilling over,
Subsiding, slipping away briefly,
giving me a moment's small respite,
Only to come back again,
even stronger than before.

These memories are a bomb:
It goes off every morning
and I spend the whole day
putting me back together,
but the pieces, the pieces, well,
they just don't fit quite right.

If only, if only, if only:
They'd disappear, go away
settle like the dust of bombs,
float away like flood waters.
Then, I may sleep a whole night,
a night without tears or screams.

--Valorie, 6.30.2010, 6:38 pm.

Sometimes, our memories take something away.

This is the first poem I've written since mid-2006. I used to be quite prolific with my poetry, but then I just...stopped. A lot when down the summer between my sophomore and junior year of high school, and by the end of it I couldn't put a pen to paper. I had been robbed of all inspiration, of all capability to write poems like I once did.

This poem... well, it's shitty compared to what I once could write. What I think I can write. But it's a start. It's me taking that capability back, robbing my own memories as it were, and trying to pick up where I left off in hopes that someday those memories won't be like a bomb going off every morning.

Inspired in part by Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop.