Today’s topic is a prose poem with internal rhyme; I’m going to go ahead and not tell you what the poem is about so you read it blinded. I’ll clarify afterwards just in case you’re super confused ..but really poetry is more about self-interpretation anyway so imagine whatever you want!
I feel it on the horizon, the familiar tinge. Daily the path is never the same, and yet the result is just as severe- a myriad of possibility can bring the same result for me. Radiating, sharp, throbbing; the variety is endless. I have no preference in its presentation and focus on the past when it didn’t exist. It knocks me flat, curls me into a ball, slows me down until I fall. Trapped inside my own demise, it escapes through both my mouth and eyes. Not everyone has experienced the sensation; those that have know it all too well.
that’s all she (meaning I) wrote!
I’m curious as to what others thought of while reading it, but it was written to describe chronic pain.