Posted by: Danica Demaclid
Date Published: January 9, 2023
Time Published: 9:08 AM
Category: Poetry
Theme: Stage Fright, Struggles with public speaking
The words I wrote
were phrases and quotes
locked inside my head; they were sentences
that I'd clenched at the tip of my tongue.
Like a criminal being detained,
or an animal being chained;
I feared every tick
and tock of clocks,
Like I was chasing time,
or maybe I was chased by time;
until I lost the chance,
and then I'd lose my spine.
It was an ocean
of Oculothorax—hunting
for the craven lamb.
A feebled mind;
a diffident child,
whose lips were stitched; worried-sick.
My blood would pump
and pump, and they would jump and cramp
like a growing tremor,
like a raucous jackhammer.
My sweat would make
the painful rain; and they would fall,
Still unable to utter it all.
If only the seats were sat by ghosts,
I could've envisioned it deserted;
I might even sing like Apollo,
and be the greatest paragon.
If only I could cease excessive consciousness—
I'd abstain from the apprehension of imaginary personage.
Yet, in the end, I still got devoured
by gutless wonders;
by shrinking violets;
by timid chickens—
Couldn't you see? I wished to stop!
I hoped they would listen.
Photo by: John Lloyd Rondilla
No comments:
Post a Comment