Monday Poetry

Monday Poetry
Poetry

Kids say the Strangest Stuff

By Patricia Harris

Why do we grow out
Of saying the most fun
Things that can come to mind?

Hurry up and save the toothbrush,
Avoid the trip to the planet
Made of stench and stinky feet…
Be made of turtles if you need to.
Why did you stop talking to
The monsters in the closet anyway?

Kids understand the world,
The wonders that keep it alive…
So though they say some of
The strangest things,
I think the kids see more than
Anyone else does in a lifetime.

*Poet’s note. This is absolutely inspired by my friend Jenny’s Dante. She messaged me three things that he said and it reminded me of the moments when my kids were little…and I realized that kids have a magic that we tend to forget by the time adulthood comes.

Monday Poetry

Monday Poetry
Poetry

Building Walls

By Patricia Harris

Everyone is so busy building walls
that we forget the reasons why
we try to hide within.

Keeping your heart from feeling,
keeping it from breaking,
is safer than trying to live
don’t you know?

building walls in front of my dreams
stops the pain from ever entering,
it stops people from touching the tender places
that I can’t heal from the other hands
that left me broken.

Monday Poetry

Poetry

Bitch with me

By Patricia Harris

The urge to just complain,
Not that you want to
Really anything change,
Just venting steam to release
And start again.

This is in the nature of the game,
Instead of fixing the problem
Whine and complain,
To feel better again.

Monday Poetry

Monday Poetry
Poetry

My Faults

By Patricia Harris

In my head
my faults are mountain sized,
built from the moments I have
so often tried…
and seen the inability
to make it work…
so the blame was in me?
because where else could it be?

instead of seeing the struggle
I have endured and the learning curve
that me was set before,
I assumed that I was flawed.

Overcome the world laid at my feet,
every issue did I defeat, just not in perfect grace,
so I listed my own flaws in litany
because I saw the struggle as my disgrace.

Monday Poetry

Poetry

Bone Tired

By Patricia Harris

When does sleep
Finally catch up
With the tired
A lifetime long?

It’s not that I am complaining,
For life is full, and I am aware,
But more than three hours
Would help feel like
I have been mauled by a bear.