This literally came out of nowhere today.....and I'm a little scared as it's the first ever poem I've written. I certainly wasn't intending to write poetry today when I sat down at my laptop, but this gushed out of nowhere pretty quickly. In all honest truth, writing poetry petrifies me.....but please be truthful anyway! It has a narrative quality I'm not sure works....but I guess I'm a story writer so.....

I Stopped To Fill My Life Up

The lights in her mind turned on.
Empty. Empty. Empty.
Today was the day, she thought, rolling out of bed, that I will fill that
Emptiness up.
Somehow, in her empty mind, that equated to satisfying the battered
Car’s empty empty empty petrol tank.
So she skipped everything else.
Left breakfast, left washing, left dressing.
Clothes lay limp, outstretched on her bed.
Fill me
Their lifeless shells seemed to scream.
The angry monster living in her stomach growled,
Protesting against its
Emptiness.

Sigh. It hissed from her lips as she stood outside watching
The weary tyres deflate their existence.
Soon unfilled,
Just like everything else.
Pausing she clutched awkwardly at her banal pyjamas.
They felt out of place.

A flash of life made her feel something
Green.
Suddenly abandoning her first idea, the wild garden,
The only growing thing in her life
With its alluring scents of mystery, its teeming nature,
Pulled her.
Struck a chord.
Lying down she disappeared amongst tall stalks of wildness
She couldn’t identify.
Red pristine blooms of loveliness
Framed her skyward view
And this time her sigh cascaded forth,
Melodically combining with the breeze
That caressed her as it never had before.
Emptiness tinged with serenity, diffused,
Tenderly moving through her.
Until something
Suddenly
Rose
In her.
And the ache of intrigue overpowered
Everything.

It started with her shoulder as it rotated quickly picking up her elbow and everything that followed fingers stretching with a crooked greedy malice that ignored the undisturbed part of her; it pulled its length angrily above her head and laughed raucously along with the fluctuating thump thump thump of a muscle she used for practicalities only.
She stopped.
Slowly upwards reaching
For the pricks of danger
That were smiling their treacherous little smiles.
Then biting her flesh
With their sharp sudden stabs.
That promising pristine bloom and its redness
Transferred to her finger as a swell of surging brilliance
Swelled from both her heart and her skin.
She desired a gush of something,
But it trickled
Slowly
Sensibly

Just like her life.