I hate romantic poetry
those stupid fantasies
eating dessert together
its all impossible
except for those who dont deserve it
i gave up on making it a life
goal to get a girlfriend
i have fallen in love exactly
in my life
i am extremely committed
is my weakness
i may be destined to
i may be destined to
live a life of solitude
and by god
that is fine with me
As I lay here with you
I can't help but stare.
Your beauty hypnotises me.
This feeling I get isn't fair.
You drive me crazy
With your royal SUV, have Mercy.
You're a badass with your shades on,
Making me think, what do you see in me?
All I want is to have you in my arms.
Cuddling under the covers, happy and warm.
To look into your sparkling blue eyes.
My butterflies have formed a swarm.
Sometimes I dream,
About you and me.
To wake up next to you daily.
I dream of how happy we would be.
But this is reality.
Not everything is how you want it to be.
Even with your shades on,
Baby, you are all I can see.
We will be holding hands sharing stories
Making memories feeling glories
Kissing lips cuddling backs
Chilling right out
Having a relax
A Self Portrait
I Stayed Honest
“I am a creature of grief and dust and bitter longings.”
-George R.R. Martin
I’m the explosion and throwing things when I fight with my mom about money or what is or is not appropriate to bring up in front of her parents.
“You’re not the only who misses him!” Screaming was the only way to get through to my mother when my dad was deployed. It was like she entered this other world that was nearly impossible to pierce, even by the people who needed her most—her three children. She was a strong woman when she left the house, but being in her living room without her best friend, sleeping every night without her husband, it took a toll on her as a human. When my dad was gone there was no music allowed in the house, because it made her cry; same with movies and TV, even board games. Joy of that nature had to be hidden away in our bedrooms. Having friends over was almost always out of the question. That held true even when my dad was home, because he finally was, it was ridiculous to want to interrupt the little time we had with him. I remember distinctly a night toward the end of my freshman year of high school. My mother, two sisters and I were sitting in the living room talking. As it often did, the conversation turned to my dad. Mom’s eyes started getting watery; she talked about how difficult things were with him being gone, and with money being tight because of the move and the new house and school uniforms and supplies and Amber starting college. I’m still not sure why I was so upset by it, her concerns were legitimate. Maybe I was angry that she was telling us this in the first place. I was fifteen, I wanted to worry about military ball and boys and school, not having to eat stir fry and beans and rice for the next seven months because it was the only thing we could afford. I didn’t want to consider the hours Amber worked at Johnny’s or the pizzas she purposely messed up so she could take them home to feed us. I threw down the pillow I’d been clutching and yelled viciously through my sobs the only thing that made sense at the time, “Would you just shut up?! You’re not the only one that misses him you know!” I didn’t take the time to look at their faces, I just went to my room, locked the door, and laid face down in my bed to cry. She came by later, knocked, but let herself in with a barbecue skewer. I think she apologized the way a parent always does when a child lashes out wrongly, but with understandable or even pitiable emotion.
A few years ago I realized my sexuality was not what my parents considered normal. I never really told them, figured I’d just leave it be until I started a serious relationship with a girl. Then, a few weeks ago, I was telling my mom a story about how my (female) best friend and I pretend to be dating to ward off annoyingly persistent boys.
My mother warned me, “You should be careful Emily; people are going to think wrongly of you.”
I was taken aback, “Mom, you know I don’t care what people think about me right? And… what’s wrong with dating a girl?”
She sighed. She knows I’m a huge advocate for equal rights, “Not everyone is as liberal as you are Emily. People aren’t always kind and accepting. I’d hate for them to think you were something you’re not and do something.”
I wanted to lose my mind. “Mom… you know I’m not straight right?” The silence on the other end was deafening.
She said something about her phone beeping and not hearing what I had said. I repeated myself. “You know I’m not straight right?”
“What are you then?” She asked, confused. I’d been with guys all through high school.
“Well, I identify mostly with pansexuality. It means I’m gender blind, I experience attraction based on looks, intelligence, whether a person makes me laugh or not as opposed to being limited to one gender.”
“So you’re bi?” She asked.
I recited my well rehearsed explanation. “No. I’m pan. Bi means two, pan means all. There are more than two genders.”
My dad said something in the background and my mother responded, “Oh just the fact that your daughter likes boys and girls.”
I remember putting my head in my hands at this point, just silently waiting for her to say something to me so I could end the conversation.
“Emily, could you just not bring this up ever again, especially in front of my parents?”
I’m the falling for someone who seems to want me too, when I’m already committed to another.
The distance between the Francis townhouses and the rest of campus may not seem like much, but combined with the distance between a second year undergrad and a graduate student, a long distance relationship of sorts is created. Said grad student may be absolutely perfect in every way you’ve thought of, but if he cannot grant you the attention during the week that a new relationship requires, you start to feel like a booty call. Before you clarify your exclusivity, you flirt like mad with the people who can grant you the attention you seek, because what’s the harm? But, even after you clarify if, you flirt like mad with those around you because, how will he ever find out and it’s not like you’re actually doing anything? You’re just trying to get the attention you require as a needy human being, that’s not a sin. But… another person comes along and they’re wonderful. They’re just as fantastic and understanding as the grad student, except they’re a senior and their townhouse is open to you during the week and the attention they give you is innocent but overflowing. What more could you want? When you start falling for the senior… what can you say to the grad student? Then, when the attention from the senior grows less innocent and you think less and less of the grad student when the senior is looking at you from across the table or helping you with your poetry, you realize you and the grad student were doomed from the start. Are you a terrible person? You tell your roommate you are every single week night you come home from “harmless” cuddling with the senior and every single weekend morning you come home from snogging the grad student. She tells you you’re just human.
I’m the two ales, three shots and half a bottle of wine later, declaring my love and sobbing about my past into a shoulder.
This past midterm break was the most story-book-like episode I’ve ever lived. I had met someone almost exactly a month before. Everything about him was perfect. We got along so freakishly well and were compatible in every way we had had time to discover. He was fiercely passionate and book smart, he cared about what I had to say. He was everything I’d been looking for in a companion. All his housemates were leaving for break, but he and I were staying. We spent the weekend in a hundred cliché romantic ways. We walked the river trail holding hands and talking about our lives, sat on benches cuddling and listening to the wind and the ducks. We stayed up all night watching movies and kissing. We also did a lot of not so cliché, but romantic things like eating pizza and watching cartoons naked. We ordered AJ’s and ate while drinking ales then finished the last few shots of someone’s liquor and then, because I had mentioned never having it before, he let me drink nearly an entire bottle of wine. We ended up on his couch, cuddling, but then I started talking. The alcohol had stolen my ability to shut up. I kept going on about my freshman year here at Bonas, about how terrible it was, how depressed I was, how many times I tried to off myself, and how I have a history of self harm. I started sobbing, he cried too, shared his secrets. Then I told him not to worry because he was loved, he said, “I love you too.” I had only meant it in a way like, God loves you, your parents, your friends, but I went with it. Why not?
I’m the stillness of not knowing what to do next.
This past weekend was the strangest I’ve ever lived. A boy at school, in my year, went missing Saturday morning after midnight. Found dead Sunday evening. The explosions death drops in our world have never landed so close to me before. I feel shell shocked. I wrote about it. I want to keep writing about it, but I feel like I’m not allowed to, like it isn’t my place. I don’t know. I’m sick with what I can only guess is grief, but it feels more like a poisonous concoction of many painful things locked in my intestines. I’m heavy with the news of him. I feel like I’m going to sink away at any minute. Everything feels like needles in the wound. The snow and the cold (loved parts of this time of year) make me wonder why he didn’t wear more than a sweatshirt, but how do I know if it would have mattered? I was out that night, well morning, Saturday, before two a.m. I was on the exact opposite side of campus though. We were walking to Walmart; I was beyond drunk and so elated. We rolled down the hill with the ST. BONAVENTURE bushes, got ourselves covered in mud. We sat at the bottom and laughed and laughed. We walked and discussed sex and books and plans for when we got back to campus within the hour. …He never made it back. And I wonder if he had plans. I wonder if his girlfriend had stayed in that night, if she was waiting for his return so they could screw, or cuddle, I didn’t know him, at least not well enough to know that. I wonder if he liked the cold and that’s why he was in a place where people couldn’t see him. The snow didn’t start until much later so others returning from parties would have seen if he was closer. Or maybe they did, maybe they thought nothing of a passed out drunk guy, isn’t that a normal thing in college? Maybe their veins were tricked warm from their strong drinks and they couldn’t imagine he was cold, they didn’t feel it, and there wasn’t even snow on the ground. Not yet. Maybe they thought it would be funny if he woke up outside. Or maybe the rumors are true. Maybe there was a fight earlier that night. Maybe he wasn’t even that drunk. Maybe some boy-men, foolishly angry, were trying to prove their false superiority. Maybe they didn’t know they’d hurt him so bad and that someone else would come along to help him. How can we ever know? I see nothing when I close my eyes except his. Looking, but not alive, his lids frozen open, his lips slightly parted, the cold paling his skin, fashioning him to look more ghost than human. I suffer in the fear that he died knowing he was going to, knowing he was alone. How afraid he must have been. How could he have known what was coming next? How can we go on living knowing his life was meaninglessly extinguished? He was undeserving of an end so lonely. I’m haunted by the image of him being trapped in that loneliness forever. I’m haunted by his face, he always seemed so happy, but don’t the dead always seem more shiny in our memories? Will he be remembered fairly or only as a good who died young? And the guilt of feeling that hurts me, eats at me, but the doubts are trying to kill me. What am I supposed to do? How am I supposed to feel about this? I hardly knew him, am I allowed to feel so blindsided? Is this allowed to send me into the tailspin I feel I’m already lost in? If I fall back into the bad habits because of the weight of what’s in my head will anyone understand or will they shame me for “wanting attention?” If I cry often, because I will think of this often, will anyone be there to comfort me? Is it selfish to ask for these things? Is it wrong to have partied Friday and Saturday because I didn’t know Sunday would pack such a punch? Is it valid to be distraught by the death of someone less than even an acquaintance? It’s just that… he was nineteen.
Assignment: Six page self portrait.
Silk smooth arms wrap me
in a nude cocoon.
Our noses brush each other
like old pals embracing
My eyes are fixated onto yours
I see the sunflower rings
that encapsulate your pupil
green grass cornea
Your body is a utopia
I let my palms drag themselves
down your creamy curves
Toes box at the edge of the bed
on your neck
on your cheek
on your forehead
Our lips went out to coffee
and now they are cuddling
Minds committing foreplay
Fingers in labcoats
conduct anatomical experiments
I retrace your indents
I discover your scars
you are my case
Appreciation of beauty
through tender lust
Pull me close
Into your arms
Don't let me go
Keep me safe and warm
Hold me tightly
In your arms
Stars shine brightly
Guiding us from harm
You twinkle, and I admire the youthful colors, the whimsical smile you bring to my cheeks
You shine, and I reminisce on times of old, times of hot cocoa and Christmas music by Chicago
You glow, and I weep
Damn you, O Christmas Tree
Damn you for keeping these memories alive and lush, so vivid to the naked eye
I break when I think of pajama nights with lusted love making under covers of protection,
Silently loving underneath my parents' open ears
And the mornings with cuddling
And the nights with Elf and How The Grinch Stole Christmas
Why does my Christmas tree bring white hot tears rolling down my face?
Its beauty could make any malnourished child sing, yet it just withers me as I remember our first dance
Yes, it was by the tree on that Saturday afternoon.
As I cry, I still cannot forget you, because you used to be there to catch these drops before they fell on my lap
After six months, you still haunt my every thought, in every waking moment I exist.
I am scared for myself-scared I will never go a Christmas again without the horror of our past-
What will never be again,
And what was merely a Christmas wish impossible to grant
Is this how God intends to torture my broken soul?
I Love You Sarah
Three words that anyone can say
But not everyone can achieve its meaning
I wish I can have your personality in my life everyday
To see a movie or whatever you would like and then cuddling
I know we spent less than a week together before you left
But we are still going strong though all this distance
You mean everything to me and that is the truth
But I really do love you with all my heart
Not just a single, lonesome part
With all my heart
I love you
Anyway, this poem is for my girlfriend, Sarah, and this is a series of 4 or so poems that I'm sending her for her birthday. I wish I could spend it with her (it's her sweet 16 and my 16th birthday is actually the day before hers) but we are 1500 miles away from each other. This poem is telling her how much I love her and how much I really miss her and how I wish she was here.
I hope you enjoy. Thank you!
The trouble I had
as she met you
by the bridge
against the hedge
her hair unkempt
her eyes ablaze
and bright red top
hands on hips
from her lower lip
the 3rd degree
where was I going
I could have
pulled my hair out
and stuffed it
here she paused
and breathed in deep
good to see you
and trying on
a smile for size
a good start then
had to rush around
like a blue arsed fly
to get the chores
done in time
and then I had
to creep out
before she knew
and my brothers
I was meeting you
but still they
egged her on
yes that's what
seeing you smile
I wanted to see you
and after the last time
that parting kiss
left a lot
to be desired
you stopped smiling
and put on an
I’m sorry I smiled
kind of face
and yes I should have
left with a better kiss
kind of look
are we going then?
not the cinema
sitting in the dark
watching others smooch
while we sit there
or ice creams
what about we ride
to the big river
and sit beside it
and catch up
she said frowning
cuddling and such
she pulled a face
and then went
and got her bike
and you both rode
along the lane
to the main road
then rode further
until you came
to the big river
and walked along side
the river bank
pushing the bikes
she still silent
the air fresh
birds in the trees
now and then
the wide river
and she laid
her bike down
on the grass
by the river bank
the river running
at a steady pace
you sat beside her
like the grave
on her knees
her knees together
you ever fished here?
the smaller river
with my brothers
when I was younger
she looked at you
it's not you
I’m angry with
where are you going
and why stuff
makes me so boiling
so I could bite
kind of thing
and you smiled too
yes I guess
people get you
that way at times
and she sighed
and looked out
at the water
the air breathed in
and you looking
at the sky
to be a good day
and kissed her shoulder
and she turned
and kissed your lips
and the whole
doesn't understand me
and I could stuff
my pulled out hair
up her arse
kind of thought
on the kissing lips
and eyes closed
and hands resting
and hugging each other
(her mother's borrowed)
and she forgetting
It's getting late tonight.
Big Ben's hands have been twisting viciously for hours
And somehow ended up around my neck.
They say timing is everything and lucky for me
The moment I laid eyes on you all the time
In your hourglass figure froze in my mind.
I want to start things off right because
When I saw you from across the room I wanted to get to know every
Millisecond of your history so that the mysteries in your smile became
My new reason to appreciate antiquity.
I can be your ancient artifact.
In fact, I'll be whatever you want me to be so long as it doesn't involve me
Trapped in revolving doors that prevent me from your proximity.
I need to know the inner workings of yourself shine as brightly as your physical presence
Because you might be pleasantly surprised to find out my genuine intentions.
I want to get close to you.
Break through the refurbished armor you fundamentally meshed to your being
In order to prohibit Cupid's bow from poking holes in your aorta.
Understand I have every intention of keeping your core in tact
But I need to get to know your heart to see if we're a match.
Your struggle humbles me- You're my Atlas.
With ten delicate fingers protecting all the world's wonders
Cuddling Mother Nature as your own new born.
I want to know your mind can dance as elegantly as your body can.
Because my brain's signing up for ball room dancing classes
And could use a well-versed partner for the Waltz.
And there's nothing more beautiful than two minds
Marching reciprocally to the tune of one drummer's heartbeat.
Let me meet the symphony responsible for your eloquence.
So my ears know where to discover your reckless intelligence when I'm losing mine.
I hope you have a sweet tooth and never resort to shortcuts.
Because when you've passed the point of no return but decide to venture back
All I can offer you is heartfelt motivation and handfuls of Hershey kisses.
I know I may sound foolish and I'm sure the odds are against me.
Due to countless attempts where men request
Bedroom conquests that leave little room for imagination.
And it's hard for me to disregard your reservations
Given the nature of your past encounters with individuals who'd rather
See none of you with the lights off than all of you in the spotlight.
So let me approach this conversation differently-
I want to be your heart's only conqueror.
Pick open your cardiac locker with my sincerest approach
And approach you in the kind of way that eliminates the word No from your vocabulary.
Let's become Grandfather clocks and tick tock together through the end of time
Approaching eternity splendidly through clockwork.
We can redesign what it means to be inherently inseparable
If you allow me to frequent your grudges and pitch a tent on your battle scars.
We'll indulge in witty dialogue about your inner thoughts to demonstrate
My ability to take you seriously while giving your lips upward mobility.
I want your soul on speed dial in case of emergency.
Because if I need a saving grace, your unparalleled energy is my only hope.
Please, let me see the alarms explode in your eyes as they have in mine.
We're running out of time.