The other night, I was having a rough night, and some verses popped into my head for poetry writing. Of course, I didn’t put them in my phone and the next morning I couldn’t remember them all. But I tried to write a poem based on what I remember. I’m also ready for fall and have been in a Halloween ready mood, so that accounts for kind of the chilly, almost spooky tone of the poem.
What is it when your passion becomes your punishment?
When the hours that felt like minutes before drag like days?
How does something so positive turn against you?
The path I was on seems to be gone,
Now I know where not I go.
It’s a silent scream that chills my bones, coursing through my body.
Where do I go?
What do you do when it takes everything to keep going?
Going forward, when what you loved now causes a pain.
Pain that hurts even more because it used to bring you joy.
What do I do?
Do I stay and fight, risking the cut in my soul growing even more?
Or do I walk away and leave part of myself behind?
There’s no easy answer here.
How I wish I knew my path.
I scream for guidance, for help, but no one hears.
It’s a living hell, when your passion becomes your punishment.