Living In The Willow Tree, poem by Drem on S.A.D.

Living In The Willow Tree, a poem by Drem

June 28, 2016

“I’m tired

of being dragged out

with makeup on

and nice clothes

and a forced smile

when all I want to do

is forget I exist

for a little while.

Take what I need to take.

Count one, two, three, four

or however many needed

to forget what season it is

and forget what happened last year

around this time.

Bad things… um, they happened.

Things I don’t want to think about.

So I count one, two, three, four

or however many needed

to forget who I am

for a little bit.

Thank you.

Just a little bit.

Thank you.

I’m tired of being forced out

of my carefully constructed box

that is my lovely little room.

It’s crammed with Giclée limited editions,

oil, pastel, and watercolor originals

from artists all over the world

all unhung on my floor.

Aqua, turquoise, orange, pink

greet my eyes every day.

And I have my computer screen.

It’s all I want. And all I need.

And all I can handle.

It’s all I can handle.

So in my hand I count

one, two, three, four

of them

or hit one to five times of it

and I try my best to go away,

at least till I can phase out

the voices and visions

that are overwhelming me.

Bad things. Bad things.

Flash, flash, flashes of him

doing bad things to me

dance circles around my swimming

mind and my glazed over eyes.

See, I like the world as a gray spinning sphere

that I can’t tell is spinning.

We’re oblivious. Oblivious people. Oblivious motions.

Oblivious emotions coming from

your subconscious and my limbic system.

And every so often

when I am ready

I have the opportunity

to take off the sunglasses

that make my world

so dull, morose and lonely

like the willow tree that lives at the end

of the block I remember it there,

when I was growing up.

My world is that willow tree now

as an adult.

I climbed into it and I never left

because I never wanted to.

I made it my room and stuck a pillow

on the third branch, and across is my computer

and my paintings dot the lawn

beside the dirt road.

It’s what I’m comfortable with,

at least for right now.

So, don’t make me count

one, two, three or four of them.

We both know I had enough.

It’s what I’m comfortable with,

at least for right now.

I’m tired and I can’t keep running

to keep up with you

and the rest of the people

who live normal lives

and do normal things

like go out for drinks

or go to work in the morning.

No more uncomfortable shoes

or 1AM caked up makeup for me.

I’m done.

But when I’m ready,

when I’m ready,

I’ll take off my sunglasses

all by myself

and climb out of my willow tree room

to get enough fresh air to last me

the rest of the year.

It’s all I want. It’s all I need.

One, two, three, four

weeks, then months go by.

One, two, three, four

weeks, then months go by.

I know time exists,

and I probably waste it,

but I refuse to accept it’s conditions.

So I live like this.

Counting and hiding and then shoved

to be the person you want me to be.

Stop shoving me.

I told you I’m tired already.

I’m tired.

Thank you.

But, I’m tired.”

(C) Drem 2016

http://www.ArtofDrem.com

 

 


15 thoughts on “Living In The Willow Tree, poem by Drem on S.A.D.

  1. You have this amazing fire in you, im always touched listening to you read your words. I feel every heartfelt scream to just be allowed to be you. This is a wonderful piece, you’ve got such a powerful voice amid so much torture. Be proud of you and at peace in your tree/room

    Liked by 1 person

  2. I mean the tone of the poem. The words themselves raw are bold and commanding, it challenges the reader as if directed at them, as if they are your antagonist trying to take you from the quiet peace you’ve cultivated. It’s the tone of voice in the poem that shows the power of the piece and you as a person. Listening to you read touches me because it’s so intimate and you have your heart of full display. It’s special to hear the author not only read but live those words. It adds a new dynamic is a piece that is so personal. Sorry I did jump all I’ve the place with that comment. I’m just a rambling madman after all.

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    1. I don’t think you’re that mad because you are aware of your madness which thus makes you unmad. I do think you are a bit of a dramatic artist (artist pronounced with a French accent) who rambles because suddenly there is much to say when often there is nothing to say.

      Liked by 1 person

      1. Well I do have a really good French accent even though I barely remember any of the language.
        That a really kind description. I’m really flattered, it’s very grand and has me smiling.
        You may have me pinned, I live in my head so when I speak by tapping oit text or dulcet toned voice I say as much as I can incase I never get another chance.
        I’m just glad you appreciate and possibly enjoy the comments.

        Liked by 1 person

      2. …but my mother says I’m special and unique! Haha!! Well its nice that someone can see me, it’s very rare anyone takes the time. I still worry I scare people with the intensity, it’s only because I care but I often forget how to be around people.

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      3. I honestly don’t know. Maybe it’s because I retreat to my comfy hermit life that conversation becomes fleeting or more matter of fact informative. The free flowing conversation is avoided because I’m busy talking to myself. Maybe it’s that I choose to forget, reject the love and kindness because I question my worth. Yet I still forget but am charmed when someone tries to remind me.

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      4. I don’t really have anyone. I don’t have close relationships with siblings, my parents respect my privacy and let me come to them but I lose myself in me so don’t join them. The friends I had cast me aside years ago and then had the cheek to invite me back “once I was better”. I talk at work, but I don’t know if it’s real. It’s confusing I can have profound conversations but is it just passing the time for them? I’m too afraid to ask. Starting the conversation is really difficult, once I’m in it I’m okay but still very cautious.
        I used to play games a lot. I haven’t really been interested since the start of this year. More recently I claim to be in creator mode, I barely watch my tv shows opting for Netflix as background noise while I write.

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