7 Minutes


Trying my hand at a new style of writing. Apparently experimentation is what keeps the creative juices flowing, I highly recommend it :P.

7 Minutes

Minute 1: You questioned my skill with words.
Minute 1: All I ever needed was a fraction of your time,
For these uninhibited words of mine.

Minute 2: Your constant wonder and delight over these
skills of mine,
Never manifest at any other time,
But when you need it the most.
Minute 2: I push my feelings of joy and
acknowledgment down,
Reminding myself it’s temporary, fleeting,
And only for this moment,
And as of tomorrow, these words and sentiments will
cease to be.

Minute 3: The words spewing from your lips,
Taint the faith and belief resting within,
Chipping away at the cracked remnants
of my self-esteem,
Tainting and painting my rare clear blue skies,
With thunderclouds and stormy hues.
Minute 3: I tell myself it’s a phase,
The resentment, anger and sting in your words,
Ever so abundant and free-flowing,
Shall abate and be forgotten,
Like all the other days.
While I remain scalded, and shall eternally carry
the scars and pain.

Minute 4: You’re giving up on me yet again,
You say you can’t take it anymore,
You call it a fading art…
My painting with words,
Words that colour, words that release,
Words that showcase,
All that I inhibit,
And all that begs to be released.
Minute 4: I finally let go,
My patience has finally run out,
My old friend rage, tempered by time,
Has uncoiled itself,
While anger, the quick hardy fool,
Rears it’s ugly head,
Foaming at the mouth, snapping at the heels,
To rip apart and shred to bits,
All the unreasonable, cold and callous
words thrown my way.

Minute 5: There it finally is,
The light at the end of the tunnel,
As your volatility starts to dissipate,
Your acidic words that corrode and berate,
All exhausted and spewed out every which way,
Without an iota of caution, without concern,
As to who gets scarred along the way.
Minute 5: Oh why is there no end to this day?
I find myself asking every second at this time,
And in this space…
Why do you not see me for all that I am?
As opposed to seeing me as the ill-fitting pieces,
Ruining your creative masterpiece of perfection?
My screams are dying deep within,
Even they realize the futility of expectations.

Minute 6: Words…warnings…directions…compliments?
I don’t know anymore…
The din of your denial and my frustration,
Send my blood pounding through my veins,
Your words have driven the comfort I once sought
from you away…
Leaving me bare and exposed,
To the jagged shards of disappointment,
Left behind by crushed and shattered dreams.
Minute 6: I wrap myself up,
With yet another threadbare blanket of
reassurance,
To keep warm whatever remains,
In a body ravaged by countless storms,
To face yet another storm headed our way.

Minute 7: You hang up that phone,
Words and orders issued and decreed.
Not a reassuring glance, nor a reassuring word,
To ease the pain and hurt bubbling and
simmering within.
How easy it was for you,
To disregard the very thing, the only thing,
That keeps this stoic and broken heart ticking.
Minute 7: The sound of silence snaps me out
of my daze,
Determination and resolve seep into my watery
gaze,
As I clench my fists harder,
Grit my teeth harder,
Until the pain
Becomes the propeller,
That pushes me forward,
To pull out a fresh canvas
To paint this unpredictable world,
With the purity of the colors of my words,
Untainted, unfiltered…
Unedited and unadulterated,
Free and liberated from the confines,
Of a world so regulated,
By notions and opinions declared by one too many,
And understood by none.
On the back of that wondrous creature
called freedom,
I set my words free and let them fly.
So that tomorrow when you see,
My words painting the skies,
You will realize,
The folly in turning your back…
Caging, insulting and defacing,
The talent and beauty lying within.

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