Stephanie Bennett-Henry – a poem of a repetition and seeking a difference.
The sadness sneaks up on me often enough,
I should expect it by now, but I never do.
I never do. I’m the last to know. The deer
in the headlights, frozen in this moment,
I never know how the hell to escape this.
But I can tell you, Hell is hot. It doesn’t burn
less with each time it engulfs me. No.
You don’t become accustomed to the fire.
You never get comfortable with the sky dive
living on your insides, it’s head first hoping.
It’s a wish that maybe this time you’ll land
on your feet, maybe this time you’ll make it.
And I always end up saying, well next time
everything will be different, I’m sure of it.
I am learning slowly with a kick and a scream
that there’s not a next time. This is it.
I tell myself to snap out of it. Just stop…
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