All the poems I have here were written in July in previous years. Each is the first poem I wrote that July. I had wanted to share poems written on July 3 specifically but there were none.
[The last poem contains mentions of suicide.]
The Time Was Ripe
12 July 2015
The lack of inspiration that has brought me here today,
is reeling and pealing away my skin.
The time it has taken to come so far,
for half a month to pass,
seems far longer than what it was,
And yet too short for it to have been another year.
Nothing is making sense as it swirls through my brain
in a jumbled, hectic mess.
As my readers, you may have noticed, but if not
do not be alarmed,
I’m still writing, still plotting, still mentally involved.
Most of my best poetry
never reaches the paper,
A shame, really,
15 July 2016
I know not who I am
But who I make myself to be.
I know not where I hail,
‘Cept I lived among the sea.
I stay the same, but not in how they treat me,
My form shifts, and that is how they greet me.
Even thought I have not changed at all,
They do not realize ,and that will be their fall.
Long Awaited Meeting
18 July 2017
I wondered what she thought
as my life was on display.
Would it be for naught,
My suicide that day?
I longed for her to hear me,
so I joined her on that side.
Now that she is near me,
WIll my time, she bide?
The colors of this world we’re in
Were painted on for show,
But can you hear me o’er the din,
as the mem’ries around us flow?