Guilty As Charged

In high school, English was my favorite subject and E.E. Cummings my favorite poet. Poetry fascinated me because it made me wonder whether the poet intentionally divided the stanza as so, or whether English teachers over analyzed poems for the sake of torturing scores of students. To this day, I still wonder. But something that I am sure of is this: I am drawn to Cummings because of the way he deliberately defied the rules of English – and yet ironically, he was a poet.

I have written poetry since high school, and while writing takes work and is considered as such, poetry flows naturally. My poems are charged, polarized with opinion and driven by inspiration. Writing requires editing and re-wording and proofreading, but poetry is my spur of the moment relay of mind to blog as imaginary pen to paper. So forgive me for typos and for breaks that don’t make sense, but this is how I feel right here, right now: guilty, as charged.

consider me guilty as charged
for committing every cardinal sin
in the unspoken breakup bible how
was i to know there were steps
methodologies and predictabilities
to these tragic life defining events

consider me guilty as charged for-
saking my sanity for the sake
of reaching some sort of clarity or
better yet apology which i have yet
to receive which i would trade
for this deafening decibel of silence

consider me guilty as charged
for falling into this cycle of
passive aggressive downward spiral
into a black hole of uncertainty
and mind games with my vivid
imagination to blame as my worst enemy

consider me guilty as charged
for not knowing yet desperately
wanting to know stalking yet
badly wanting a calm and collected
control of self caring still yet
knowing that care is not my right

consider me:
guilty, as charged.



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