M. T. Grove

Marching, slogging, plodding on at their insistence, starved of hope, deprived of joy, denied assistance, fighting, struggling, confronting fierce resistance, and regardless of resolve, despite persistence, suffering a Sisyphean existence.

Damaged

 I mar myself untenderly

by etching marks into my skin;

each scar I leave will render me

as damaged outside as within.

Just Stop Drowning

“Just stop drowning.”

I hear them mutter; they watch me sputter; I choke and splutter;

they wish that I would just stop drowning.

The water’s gushing; the current’s rushing; the pressure’s crushing;

so maybe I should just stop drowning.

With dread assailing, my body’s flailing, and I am failing,

if only I could just stop drowning.

Just stop drowning.

Stop drowning.

Stop.

Rose-Colored Glasses

 I’ve lost my

rose-colored glasses,

or they were stolen

on the way;

now, the world

around me passes

by in tedious

shades of gray.

Believing in Beginnings

 My strength will not be measured when

I count my prizes and my winnings,

but when I fail and start again

and keep believing in beginnings.