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offthetipofthepen · 1 year

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#poem #poetry #poet #writing #writer #poets on tumblr #poetsandwriters #original poem #poetsofinstagram #poets corner

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offthetipofthepen · 1 year

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This is one of the more special poems that I've written recently.

Sobriety has been a very big journey. Obviously, nobody is cured from addiction, but there comes a time in the healing process where you look around at the life you've managed to get back on track and start to wonder, "now that it seems like this is under control, what's next?"

This poem is kinda about that. Rather than feeling like things have been ending lately, I sense a new journey is about to begin and I'm scared to embark on it because trust is a tricky thing for me, especially when it involves the universe let alone other people.

The thing is, I know that whatever this next step holds for me, it has the potential to help me grow like never before. I have hope for the future which is a foreign concept that makes me both fearful... AND excited.

Whatever experiences lie ahead, this poem expresses that I'm ready to jump in and see what's waiting for me just below. 🥰

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offthetipofthepen · 2 years

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offthetipofthepen · 2 years

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"My Garden"

An original slam poem performed by me

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offthetipofthepen · 2 years

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"MY GARDEN"

An original poem by Robin Lin Ryding (@polkahotness aka me)

There is a garden that grows inside my head.

Overgrown and wild, it hides away in a dark, musty corner where music does not play and voices do not sing.

Underneath clouds of depression it wilts under constant rain and humidity

Air so thick, my lungs swell at the thought of its moisture taking root in my chest where there’s hardly any room left to breathe

The few flowers that exist cower under the backdrop of weeds that outstretch towards a darkened sky

What little sunshine exists there is swallowed by flora so ravenous it leaves no rays to nourish fragile leaves and buds too frightened to bloom.

My garden is a mess.

Behind my lids, it lies - an abandoned biodome

A forgotten patch of land never to be satiated with what attention it can get.

It clamors

And hollers

Until the screaming is all I hear

Until its yelling is all there is

Until it grows so loudly that I can no longer take the noise and I cry just to give it the water it so desperately demands.

Thick vines overtake already crowded space and squeeze

They squeeze until I suffocate

Squeeze until I’m dried up

Squeeze, and squeeze, and SQUEEZE until there’s nothing left but the dust of budding confidence now blown away by the whispering wind.

I close my eyes and see my garden

Unkempt, unclean, unhealthy.

Ants crawl beneath my skin and itch for me to tend the fertile soil within

Weakened veins beg for a new environment as if different dirt could fix what I’ve let rot into the ground.

But it wasn’t me who did that.

I didn’t plant those weeds here and

I didn’t place clouds in the sky and

I did nothing but care, and love, and trust that everyone except myself would take care of my garden when those pests took control

My tender seedlings could not grow under their constant

Words and

Lies

And goodbyes that were wrought with expectations nobody could fulfill

How could anybody thrive

How could I be expected to survive when I was alone in this box filled with mud I was buried under

Where I couldn’t give anymore water

How do you still need more water? You only want more, and more, and more because you say it’s not enough

How can my tears not be enough?

WHEN WILL IT EVER BE ENOUGH?

Never.

It will never be enough.

Just like water is not enough

And sunlight is not enough

And the richest soils money can buy are not enough because brittle compliments and kind tongues will never be enough on their own to make my feeble plants grow.

Rain and shame wash overhead - a blanket of regret that encases me in what this garden could be

Should be

Would be if I had nurtured instead of tortured the life that grew here.

Those weeds can't be ungrounded just like seeds cannot be unsewn

But the mess I’ve allowed to flourish can be plucked and tended.

With grimy gloves and new tools, I can learn to be the gardener these plants deserve

I can feed their scraggly roots with hard work and with sweat rather than drowning them in regret

I can reap the fruit they’ll bare and harvest the joy they’ll bring once their sprouts shoot up into the sky where there is nothing but empty space

And fresh air

And plenty of room to grow

Because one day this garden will burst with new life and overshadow those damned weeds that lay dormant - forever waiting to overstay their welcome

But this time, it is them that will not survive.