Poems by Linda M. Crate’
Both the Dream and Nightmare
My uncle’s suicide
opened my eyes
which made me realize I did not really
want to die,
I just wanted the pain inside
carved out;
did not want to feel such a tempest
of rage and sadness—
I feel everything so deeply
this intensity
sometimes scares me,
but it is the only reality I know;
I cannot feel things
as I have been told that I am supposed to—
I have always been sensitive,
where people think my kindness is my weakness;
but they’re making a mistake for the flames
of my rage burn as bright as my love
I can be compassion and flowers
but I can also be chaos and nightmares—
they don’t want me as anything less than the dream,
I am certain;
but I am both the dream and the nightmare.
That is Scary
Emotions are not weakness
feeling things does not make
someone weak
I believe true weakness comes in
the form of people who feel
nothing at all
those so emotionally numb that they
decide to carve everything that makes them
human out of their souls,
and that could never be me;
it is not who I am?
they say fake a smile but i cannot—
sometimes reality is too dark
on my soul
feel like I am being dragged beneath
a current
that I cannot get out of,
constantly under threat
of losing my strength;
being pulled under
I am a strong swimmer but anyone can drown—
that is what I fear,
I think,
anyone can drown;
depression does not discriminate against
the successful or the unsuccessful
does not care if you are a dreamer or you’ve
been pulled out of the marrow
of all your dreams—
that is scary.
Sadness is not a Gift
I reached out to you
only to have you, push me away
you said that you would be there,
but you weren’t;
and I guessed that’s why I unable to trust anyone—
I know everyone is not you,
but there are enough people like you that
I don’tknow who to trust;
I seem to love people who cannot love me
regardless of whether
it’s friendships or relationships—
do not mean to, of course,
who would choose that pain?
I guess I see the broken,
and I think they’ll understand enough not to
break me further;
yet that’s not always true
some of them are parasites drawn to my light
taking everything they can from me
until they are no longer hungry
leaving me aching for their friendship—
but I cannot help but can love
it is programmed deep in my soul
to be the person for others that was never there for me,
and i guess feeling everything intensely is what
some would consider a gift;
but when I am sad I am really caught wedged
in a darkness in which I cannot always easily escape,
and that sadness is not a gift.
About the Poet
Linda M. Crate’s poetry, short stories, articles, and reviews have been published in a myriad of magazines both online and in print. She has six published chapbooks A Mermaid Crashing Into Dawn (Fowlpox Press – June 2013), Less Than A Man (The Camel Saloon – January 2014), If Tomorrow Never Comes (Scars Publications, August 2016), My Wings Were Made to Fly (Flutter Press, September 2017), splintered with terror (Scars Publications, January 2018), more than bone music (Clare Songbirds Publishing, March 2019), and one micro-chapbook Heaven Instead (Origami Poems Project, May 2018). She is also the author of the novel Phoenix Tears (Czykmate Books, June 2018).
