Hey there, peeps! I’m extremely excited to announce that Fueled By Whimsy is having its first guest entry. The guest in question is an excessively important person to me and an exquisite poet. He wrote the poem I’m featuring today especially for this blog and for me. Please join me in welcoming Christopher A. Rodson to the Fueled By Whimsy family! Currently residing in Canada, learning how to make movies (while also making me jade with envy), Chris has lived all over the U.S., and sometimes out of it. I met him in Maine, where I still live, and now I am helping to get his name shouted out to the internet masses. Accompany, my fellows! After reading and loving (as I did) share with all your friends and foes. For even foes need good poetry. 🙂

Presenting: The Cherry Blossomed

Walls, but they don’t close in. No they loom, a haunting game they play.
It’s all in your head, the whispers, the unsaid.
Your fear burrows deep, it’s hard to recall everything you say.

The red, the image, you look away, you’ll never wed.

Out the windows a world you can’t visit, can’t return.
All these memories scream in your head, your swollen, over sized head.
You scratch weak skin and you hide, but you’ll never learn.
Stalk above, routine below, in the mirror you’re seeing red.

Hatred, anger, pouring in your veins, skin turned crimson, it won’t drain away.
On your knees, into your hands, then up to the sky you pled.
A quiet return, to that old place you know, there’s nothing left to say.
The image, seeing red, you’re bloated and smooth, it’s all in your head.

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