Raw Earth Ink
spit, mixed with dirt – muddy words flow
Trapped With My Books
in the quiet evening hours she cries
alone in the stillness
sitting beside her bed
pillow cold
sheets wrinkled and mute
she scrolls and remembers
the lies, the betrayal
uncertainty
she’s trapped and now
she cries for what should have been
what was supposed to be
dreams lost, faded, unrealistic
heart pierced through
she will never trust again
she’s trapped
she longs for something…. but what?
disgusted, she realizes she’ll soon forget
everything she wanted to write down
she fades
she’s the awkward girl in the corner with baggy jeans and tie-dye shirt, wishing
she’s the frumpy wife who can’t remember the last time her husband gazed at her with desire
she’s the dreamer aware of her faults,
unable to escape them, awake and broken
she’s the artist who bleeds out her despair
and longing and hates herself for what she does,
who finishes with a sigh, sets down her pen,
and utterly despises what she’s created,
an open book, so to speak,
vulnerable and disadvantaged
and never seen
(but who would want to?)
she cries
she’s trapped
her nails dig in
to anything, anyone
it’s dangerous, she knows it,
but there it is
she’s trapped, alone,
a snare of her own making
how can there be love without trust?
where is the hope in betrayal?
“sometimes you can’t claw your way out,”
she says
“sometimes there isn’t a hand reaching,
sometimes it’s dark and lonely…”
her and her memories
reminding what an awful wretch she is
so she stretches her hands
buries herself in the words of Dixon or Daquin,
Nelson or Dring,
names which, perhaps, mean nothing
to you or I
but, for her, who have penned verses so deep
so penetrating, almost holy,
for how can one understand another’s plight?
how can one write out all the inner things?
unless they too…
and then, how to move forward?
she flips the page, dives deeper
this time it’s White or Gallo or Raven she devours
reality and illusion intermingle
trading places and flipping around
surely the answer is found in the next line
surely it must,
oh surely it must
tara caribou | ©2023
21 Comments on “Trapped With My Books”
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Raw Earth Ink 
I wonder sometimes do we and the characters intertwined, and we see a bit of ourselves everywhere when we flip through the pages?
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I do believe that we are always looking for similarities, so we don’t feel so alone.
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👍
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Oh, surely it must, be that next line read or written.
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I’m just sure of it!
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Reblogged this on cabbagesandkings524 and commented:
Tara Caribou – The next line?
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this is up near the top of what you have written. could only be from the heart, i doubt one can imagine such, it comes from within and it resonated so much to me.
dreams, lost – loneliness, trust – such a cheaply used word ‘trust’ so often yet i feel ‘we’ often don’t realise how visceral and fundamental it is – until we lose it, or have it lost. transitions in trust is a life changing experience for me, and so dangerous when reacting to same.
a snare of our own making? we so often blame ourselves? trust freely given in hope – do we dare not? is it wrong to extend trust?
is there ever really a hand reaching? are we saved by others or by what we are? perhaps the hand that reaches in reality awakens in ourselves what we need to go on?
reality and illusion … so often there seems no distinction.
wanting the answer in the next line seems to me to be the most powerful expression of hope – always wait for the next line.
amazing. and it came at a time when i needed it. thankyou. i hope you don’t mind me breaking it down how it landed on me …
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Honestly, you’ve encapsulated a lot of what I myself have been mulling over the last week. I agree, trust seems incredibly underrated… until we realize we’ve lost it. I wonder if every one of us were more aware of that possibility of lost-trust… would we do things differently? Would we really? I’ve certainly done things which have betrayed trust. I have also been betrayed, in all sorts of ways and manners. How to repair it? Should we? But really, HOW?? It’s partially a choice, but also something more. If the trust is broken, and the next ninety-nine times it is not… it’s still broken. I don’t know how to “move beyond” it. Because it still hurts. It still is a broken thing. Maybe the chasm isn’t as wide as I imagine it to be? Part of the issue may come from within, as in, why was I so gullible to not realize it and then to find out… I was betrayed. It’s the UNKNOWN. What REALLY happened? What was the REAL logic behind the actions?
We Need hope. But broken trust taints hope. I think the saving comes from a combination of others, ourselves, and something more. Thank you for always understanding me and commenting. It’s like a hug from far away!
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Powerful & heartfelt verses – sometimes the writing is the only escape we have.
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Indeed.
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That is the hope, isn’t it… that the next line makes elusive truths that much clearer. A little like carving our own path with each line we write.
Sometimes there is no hope and we are stuck in a hole with noone to rescue us. But we claw our way out.
Escaping the hole won’t ever mean we’ll never fall in another one; but it will be damn easier next time 🙂
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That’s the hope anyway.
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Beautiful work. I love how this flows, almost stream of consciousness and then kinda curves into a crafted, well-honed piece. Great job Tara!
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Thank you, Jay. That means a lot to me. 😌
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👍🏻🙋🏻♂️
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There’s a lot going on in this one. Like a stream of consciousness a bit. Rapid fire. But I totally followed it from start to finish – maybe because I feel like I can relate? Well written. So much emotion and I had fun picking out the contradictions – you don’t want to be alone, but you don’t want to be with someone with whom you have no trust. Or maybe you do? There’s just so much going through our heads and I think this piece nicely illustrates that.
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You nailed it, Goldie! Thank you for your comment (and for reading!)
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Wonderfully expressed 💖✍
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Wow, this is cuttingly well worded.
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Thank you, I sure appreciate that!
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My pleasure.
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