Wandering Back Into My Soul

(A stream of consciousness poem)


Wandering back into my soul

There’s dirt on my nose

My forehead and cheeks

Are new grounds for sweat

Waiting in the brushed dome

I see the face and say it’s not me

This isn’t the me I know

This is a bitter old woman

Not even a shower and makeup

Could clean and cover this wound

It rests deep in the ego

And tears well like a small child

Scraping her knee for the first time


I want to move to someplace

Wild and desolate

Where I can scream into the wind

And splash in the whirlpools

Ignorant of judging potentates

Free from angry hordes of memes

And sardonic laughter

Pounded out of their keyboards


“Where is the tenderness”

The song plays on and

A more disgruntled artist

Comes next with a bone

To throw at the authorities

Everyone seems to dwell in space

Others rattle their cages and lament

In harsh low tones and shrieks


Where am I, I wonder

And drink another cup of coffee

My innards wail and protest

I must stand and move on

From this unhappy place

Wiping the sweat off with my shirt sleeves

I try so hard to keep it pretty

Now it’s dead flowers and loneliness

Waiting for the Watcher to come


© 2018 Valerie Hathaway

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