October Writing Challenges: OctPoWriMo Edition

It always seems that I try to stay ahead, and thus dooming me to failure (or success) of being perpetually behind. So, I find myself three days behind on my prompts for Inktober, Writober, OctPoWriMo, and the Halloween Photography Challenge. I don't want to dump several pieces for three different days, but I still want to share what I have written. 

This month has brought some personal revelations to light and because of this I need to write it out apparently. So far, a number of these pieces are echoing my own thoughts and emotions. It feels like a therapy session or two, but also, I am trying to write pieces in different style (forms), and really trying to use the prompts given to me.

I will admit that some of the poems this far need a little more work, but I guess that's anything. I am writing and then if I like it, then I can edit it. I guess there is no time like the present.

First up are my writings for OctoPoWriMo: Days 2 thru 4 (Free Verse, Pantoum, and Naani).

Haunting of the Ego

 

What is self?

It is but you

                And all you possess,

Including glost-

Haunting my memory banks,

                Making me squirm

                With the reminder

                Of what I did before.

And I am….

                Embarrassed,

                Though time has long since passed.

 

Brush away,

Brush away,

Brush

Away

With the motion, so habitual,

But like flies swarming.

I shudder.

And still, I shudder

At the memories,

And the embarrassment,

Haunted by my ego ghost.

Shame

I can remember being a child

(trying not to be clique here)

When it didn’t matter what I did,

Because I didn’t know shame then.

 

Trying not to be clique here,

But shame is something that is taught,

Because I didn’t know shame then,

I have learned it now.

 

But shame is something that is taught,

Covering you like a blanket.

I have learned it now

Just how comfortable shame is.

 

Covering you like a blanket.

When it didn’t matter what you did.

Just how comfortable shame is

I can remember being a child.

Orchestral Fears

 

When fears speak

The noise grows louder.

And nothing can break

The cacophonous symphony.