The Ring

I have too many poems in my head
they fight for front row seat

words tangled in the ring
something’s in my way, I can’t see

Round 1 bell rings
fists of profundity punch

sweat gets in the eyes, stings
a wicked left stanza lands with a crunch

overseeing the dance of metaphoric play
the muse referees with a comical grin

“this will be the bout of the day!”
laughing at all the commotion

I hear the cheers, the egging on
the internal critic forever complains

while the crowd roars at the swings
eager to watch with anticipation

…the voices are familiar, their jeers, too
repetitive chorus of my mind’s song

hearing all the times I’ve doubted
I drown myself in buttery popcorn

No one can recognize this author
the one who threw the words

I hide behind flinging thoughts
waiting for one to be my Balboa

No more popcorn, lights turn on
letters everywhere, words mauled

Up for critique, lone prose stands
alone, triumphantly pants

~ Emily C.

 

3.10.17

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11 thoughts on “The Ring

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