Deprive

I have been. I am. I will continue to be. Deprived. See me as I present myself: happy, fortunate, alive and well, imperfect in a quirky way.

Your eyes deceive you. My eyes deceive me too.

Every day, the breath that sweeps me from my slumber is a shock.

How did this happen?

How long will this go on?

WHY ME?

Every meal I ingest is sustenance for this vessel that carries on day in and day out. Carrying the weight of one unfair, unpleasant world. Carrying, carrying, carrying, even when it is sore, tired, and worn.

This person that’s come out the other end is built upon the wreckage of deprivation. Built for survival. Immune to much more than a mere bout of pneumonia. But somehow nonexempt from the tremors of trauma.

This body is deprived of its heart, its soul.

I hate to think about it. The wells of my eyes filled with the sweat and blood shed spanning the years.

The only way to function is to repress.

Digest.

Inhale then unveil.

Deprivation has become my salvation.

Deprive
Dilemma
Unfinished
Animal
Trust
Original
Artificial
Smoke
Rearrange
Eerie
Giant
Bridge
Bludgeon
Sincere

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7 Replies to “Deprive”

  1. “This body is deprived of its heart, its soul…”
    Can’t be deprived if your essence is already gone heck, you’re just a pigment of your imagination if they don’t exist. Never-the-less, like your wonderful attempt at creating poetry which isn’t the easiest thing to write well..congratulations!

    Like

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