Continuing on with this week’s theme of indie writers and their earliest attempts at their craft, Suzan Tyrpak chimes in with one of her first attempts – a poem for arbor day.
Ripped from my high school diary.
OPPRESSION
I feel you tear at my young flesh
you gnaw at my soul
Ripping the rind of my being
Only to let spill
The gore of the society
Which has filled my body.
I must run.
But your gnarled, skeleton fingers
Grip
My
Throat
Choking
Thoughts
Forcing
Me
To breathe in
Your rhythmic pattern
Commanding me to die
In this system
You call
Life.
This isn’t my earliest attempt—that was a poem I wrote for arbor day—but this comes close. Ripped from my high school diary.
OPPRESSION
I feel you tear at my young fleshyou gnaw at my soulRipping the rind of my beingOnly to let spillThe gore of the societyWhich has filled my body.
I must run.
But your gnarled, skeleton fingersGripMyThroatChoking ThoughtsForcingMeTo breathe inYour rhythmic patternCommanding me to dieIn this systemYou callLife.
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