Ponderings of the Incomplete Person

Posted: November 14, 2013 in Poetry
Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,


this is what it’s like

to be incomplete.

I sit in a corner,

wedged between bricks.

I revel in nostalgic moments

of applause, lights,

all for reading words written by somebody else.

The words I wrote

struck people silent–

I was preaching to a room of statues.

Back then my legs were trembling

from anxiety.

At least then

I was feeling something.


I am a garden slug,

tired of the luxury

of remaining hidden

between two slabs of stone.

Is it my silence which has trapped me

in this objective state?

If I were brilliant,

would things be different?

If I were to stand and talk

would there be listeners? or

would I be rejected

for saying too much.

Then, would the corner

(that vampiric cavern)

be a comfort

to patch the hole

reopened in me?


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