These Days

Don’t get too close

It’s dark inside

It’s where my demons hide

It’s where my demons hide

-Imagine Dragons, “Demons

Many of my poems come to me fully formed (probably why they’re often all so short!), others will come in a little bit at at time. A line or two that will stick in my head until I have pen and paper in front of me and the rest can start to flow. 

This poem is one of the latter. I was listening to “Night Visions” on the bus this morning when the lyrics I quoted at the beginning came on. The hair on the back of my neck stood up, and the first few lines of this poem popped into my head.

I put the song on repeat and headed for the nearest coffee shop to try to get it all down before I needed to be in the studio. I felt absolutely electric with these words running through my mind, like I could conquer the world. Being in this kind of mental space has the side effect of dialing my charisma up to 11, I think the poor barista was slightly unprepared. If I could bottle this feeling, I’d make a fortune (or at least live a very interesting life).


These Days

I love these days

When my hair’s a lions mane

When my darkness inside

Radiates out

And the membrane of my skin

Transforms it to light

And I shine so bright

I’ll blind the passers by.

When my inner demons

Are set free

Their unfurling wings


When my smile is a scimitar

Cutting through all who see it

Helpless, they fall

Into my eyes

Pulled in by the power-

My beast’s ability

To magnetize.

I love these days

When all my deepest scars

Make me beautiful

And untamed

A creature of pure savagery

Finally unleashed.


10 thoughts on “These Days

  1. In your poem,
    You were in a place of such sublime confidence, and I loved that you were there.

    I think,
    In a clumsy, parental, way, I was trying to say something that might encourage you to stay.

    There. That might not yet be the whole truth. But I believe it’s closer.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. I would simply *Like* your comment; a smiling nod and tacit “over & out,” but WordPress has an issue regarding my password that prevents me from “liking.” (I tried so many times to resolve this but finally gave up. As long as I can visit to read, to think, to occasionally reply, I’m satisfied).

    No, y’all, I am not her actual parent. But we go back so many years and she is so important to us that we regard her as a daughter.

    And then, for me, there is the Crazy bond. But you, Maggiemorphosis, you observe and navigate your craziness with such clarity and candor it’s startling to me sometimes. I’m inspired to do better with mine.

    So, in these correspondences I shift back and forth between Parent (concerned parent, proud parent, worried parent, thrilled parent, etc.) and Fellow-Walking-Wounded.

    Liked by 1 person

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