"Taunted"

What is this,

the purpose of it all?

What am I doing here?

Today I’m not feeling it.

Haven’t for a while.

Masking my feelings with positivity bullshit.

All of the love that’s supposed to surround me,

to lift and guide me,

where is it?

I don’t feel it.

I certainly don’t see it

not often, if ever.

Is all this pain and suffering

deep inside me somewhere?

Do I dare dig a shovel for its treasure?

We come into this world

to suffer and struggle,

and die.

All the things I want and desire

seem unreachable most of the time.

I feel mocked.

That which I desire most

dangled right in front of me,

like a carrot on a string.

Is it entertaining

to watch me

try to bite the carrot?

“Look at what you cannot have.

No matter how you feel about it,

it will never be yours!”

To live with the knowing

it will never be mine,

I still continue to yearn for it.

Attempting to push away

my desires and dreams

only made them stronger.

Why must I continue

desiring what I’ll never have?

It’s cruel and obsessive.

To feel so passionate,

and yearn for what will never be mine,

feels overwhelming, almost unbearable.

I’ve never asked for any of this.

Nor do I want

this burden of desire.

But it stays to taunt me,

so, I toil,

and I struggle.

And despite the head work,

the struggles and tears,

I come up empty handed.

But none of it matters.

It is an illusion,

all predetermined.

What I get and what I don’t,

what I experience and what I won’t,

who I will love and who’ll break my heart.

Tell me, what is so loving about

a desire so passionate

for things I’ll never have.

Where is the love

in wants and desires

that only cause suffering?

God, take it away!

“Taunted” Rachel Ann (2024) Inner Whispers, Writing My Way Out of Darkness, A book of Poems.

 (pp.42-44)

About My Poems;

 When I write my poems, I feel a profound emotion, and the words flow naturally. Often, as I begin, I am overwhelmed by a specific feeling, and it’s as if my inner child is communicating with me. Although it can be challenging to stay connected to that emotion, I believe she has something important to say. I feel as though I’ve neglected her for too long, and this is her way of urging me to listen.

  I prefer not to explain my poems because I want everyone to engage with them and interpret them in their own way. When someone reads my poetry, I don’t want the focus to be on me; I want readers to experience it through their own perspectives. We all have different lenses of perception, and there is no single right or wrong interpretation. Some people may enjoy my work, while others may not; some may relate to it, while others may not connect at all—and that’s perfectly okay.