your dimples create a home for my butterflies,
they fly out in swarms when you smile,
I got lost in your laugh
when you frown,
you create sadness so deep I can't bare to look at myself,
I feel like it's my fault you are sad.
and sometimes it really is
I love all the things that you are composed of,
every flash of your smile,
someone once told me to never put my happiness in someone else,
but boy you it's all yours
Night time is when I think of what I've done wrong
Everything that could've been done differently
But these thoughts linger too long
They extend into the day sometimes
When I think of you
And the love that could never be
What if I had never talked to you
Never walked with you that day
Would things still be this way?
I know people say they'd accept it
That it's not so taboo anymore
But they lie
I see it in their eyes, the disapproval
The false acceptance
Deep down, they frown upon it
And I'm sorry
I'm sorry I'm this way
It's nothing I can change
I'm sorry, my love
The most beautiful girl I know
That I'm dragging you down with me
In this never ending hole
*sigh* It doesn't help that I'm in love with an asexual girl that might never see me this way at all......
So yah. Consider this my official "coming out" to you poetry people.
My lack of verbal eloquence
means I lie awake at night wishing I could recite
essays and witty phrases to fashionably bored people.
I am left to myself and my own silence wraps around me
with the heavy words
The very atmosphere tastes
of unspoken poetry and my ink sketched owls frown at me
for verbally misrepresenting myself.
Sinking deeper into the quiet I can only pray that my ceiling
might bleed words and miraculously give me
status saving sentences.
Too old for her age,
Constant frown engrained,
Into her once beautiful face,
Telling of lost love
And trials in her difficult life.
She taught me,
To smile, to prevent
What plagued her.
Here, baby darling,
sit on my bed.
Kiss my lips,
so sweet and red.
tell me a lie,
oh' tell it twice.
Make me believe,
in something nice.
Drink, baby darling,
cheers for my pain.
It's said that without it,
nothing is gained.
Touch my hips,
Move to a song.
Dont frown, but laugh dear,
life is too long.
No, silly darling,
dont peek through my mask,
under it hides...
something that has cracked.
I'm sorry I let people down
and I sometimes wear a frown
I'm sorry I'm not good with conversations
and I spend most of my time in awkward silences.
I'm sorry I'm not pretty enough
and that I'm not skinny enough.
I'm sorry I don't have the best grades
and I'm sorry I'm not the most talented.
I'm sorry I'm not perfect.
he slow jogs on the white sand
parody of a boxer
dose little dance steps as if to avoid blows
the sweat from the fierce sun scatters like rain as he doges
side to side
his hands held at his chest
head held at low angle
were that he was a prize fighter
his life is the beach
with its own world that never sleeps
from lovers entwined in sand at three am
to the devoted worshippers following the sun
in her daily trek across the unblemished roof of the world
he touches pavement as dawn touches sky
and spends his day dancing the waves of sand
the tourists stop and stare
the natives frown
at night he sits under the
monotony noise of an antique fan
its fast ticking is soothing
in his aquamarine blue room
a chicken pot pie and the game on transistor radio
aint life grand he thinks to himself
he's one of the lucky ones
he is complete in his little world
the beach and its teeming life is his world
and he's happy there
i see him sunburned to a golden brown
dance jogging and boxing the air
unburdened by the weight of the world
happy in his blissful unawares
under the watchful gaze of miami beach highrises
to live with even a fraction of his inner peace
one would live a better life
You're the sweetest person I’ve ever met and I’ve only known you for a short while. italic
Nothing like a carefree person (which you are) to make me blow away.italic
I admire you...only a child who’s smarter than he looksitalic
My undeniable love for you can’t ever be enoughitalic
When were hand in hand I smile and so do youitalic
I cant find a bigger, stronger word to say how much I love youitalic
And though your small now, you’ll get bigger soonitalic
My darling child, just want you to know my undeniable loveitalic
Is how much I care for you.italic
Your brown skin is way to soft
And I’m sure those girls will target you
When you smile, the worlds happy
And when you frown it makes me wanna cry
I still haven’t found the right words...not yet
Still haven’t found the right feeling...not yet
Still haven’t found the right hugs to give you...not just yet
But I know I've found the love for you when I held you in my arms
I was scared because you were fragile
Because you were small
Because you were precious...more precious than the stars
And since your growing now I just want you to know
I LOVE YOU…bold
YOU KNOW WHO YOU AREbold
Dedicated to: Jacob Micah Murray, italic
Anne crutches herself into Sister Paul's office. The nun is sitting in a chair behind a desk, hands folded on the table, eyes stern, lips a straight line. Anne stands before the desk, taking in the huge crucifix on the wall above the nun's head.
- You can sit down, Anne, the nun says, eyeing her firmly, watching the 12 year old girl, as she manoeuvres herself with one crutch onto the chair.
Anne sits down and puts the crutch beside the chair and pulls her red skirt over her knees, covering the stump where her leg had been.
- Do you know why you're here? Sister Paul asks, unfolding her hands, and laying them flat on the desk top.
- No, Anne says, looking at the nun's black and white headdress, the thin features of the face, hawk-like nose.
-There has been complaints made about you, the nun says. She watches as the girl fidgets in the chair, lifts herself with her hands, back further, on the chair. - Are you not comfortable? She asks.
- No, Anne says, My knickers are too tight.
The nun sighs, looks at the wooden ruler on her desk, wishes she could, but knows she can't.
- Complaints made by other children here and staff members, the nun says, toying with the ruler with her fingers.
-What sort of complaints? Anne asks.
-The worse sort: bad language, insolence, rudeness. It has to stop, Anne, do you understand? The voice sounded like grit poured into a bucket.
Anne fingered at her backside. -Ah, that's better, sorted it out now, she says, putting her hands together in her lap. - I can't recall any rudeness, she says, acting miss innocence, butter wouldn't melt in her mouth, kind of expression and pose.
The nun looks at the girl and inwardly is glad she never married and had children, especially if one had been like this.
- Sister Bridget says you called her a dried up prune, the nun says, looking at the dark hair and eyes of the child, the insolent way she sits and looks.
Anne frowns.- Me? To Sister Bridget?
-Yes, to Sister Bridget, and Sister Mary says, you exposed your bottom to her when she asked you to take your afternoon sleep. The nun looks at the girl's expression, her frown of brow.
- No, not me, Sister Paul, must have been some other kid's backside she'd seen.
-Are you calling these two nuns, liars?
The girl looks at her hands in her lap, raises two fingers upwards, out of the nun's sight.- No, not liars, just mistaken. We all make mistakes, Anne says, we're all human, after all.
Sister Paul's eyes darken, she grips the ruler tighter, pushes her toes to the end of her sandals.
- And some of the children have made complaints, too, the nun says, the words hard as nails from her lips.
-Ah, you know what liars kids can be, Sister. They couldn't tell the truth if it came wrapped in yellow paper saying, TRUTH. She smiles at her wit.
Sister Paul doesn't smile; her lips tighten, her eyes scan the child, if the girl at been at one of the schools, rather than the nursing home, she'd be well on her way to a sound caning.
- I know children, Anne, and liars, the nun says, eyeing the girl firmly, tapping the ruler on her palm. - You are a liar, and I know you. I have read the reports on you before you came. I was reluctant to take you in, but had little choice. You will behave yourself or be expelled from the nursing home. Is that understood?
Anne senses a fart coming on, but holds it in. - Yes, Sister, sorry Sister. It's my leg you see, it gives me pain, and keeps me awake at nights, and I get tired and I get irritable. She puts on a hurt expression.
The nun sits upright and stiff, an expression of dislike etched on her features.
-We are given pain, by God, for a purpose, Sister Paul says, it is a gift we ought to shoulder and bear with gratitude.
-Like haemorrhoids, you mean? Anne says, fiddling with her fingers, a blank look on her face.
- You know what I mean, young lady, pain in general, not in particular. At that moment the nun feels a great urge to inflict pain on the girl sitting in front of her. She can picture it, the whole scene, the satisfaction.
Anne shifts in the chair, steadying herself. - Can I go now?
The nun sits back in the chair, eyes focusing on the girl, her face straight and stiff as a board.- Your leg has been amputated, so how can it give you pain? the nun says, her words pushed from her mouth as if they were sour.
- Nerve endings, they don't realise the fucking legs gone, oops sorry, about that it kind of slipped out while I was engaged in thoughts, Anne says, looking at the nun's reddening face. - Didn't mean to, it's my leg you see, it gets me all uptight, and wound up like a clock, and then ping! Out it comes.
The nun sighs deeply. The word hammers inside her ears and brain. - I won't have such language, do you hear me, not another rude word or expression.
Anne clenches, the cheeks of her buttocks tightly, to hold in the the coming wind. She nods, gives an expression of remorse, allows her eyes to water, takes out a handkerchief from her skirt pocket and wipes her nose. - Sorry about that, don't mean to be such a bad girl, my apologises to all. She wipes her eyes, lets herself go, does her acting bit, slumps her shoulders, weeps softly.
The nun is confused, sits up, feels an urge to go around to the girl and embrace her, say, there, there, dear child, but she doesn't, instead she stares at the girl, at the slumped shoulders, at the dark hair, the sight of neck, and wonders what kind of mother she would have made had she married, would she have coped with the nappies and sickness and foul smells and dressing and undressing a baby and the disturbed nights, and a man touching her, and doing things to her. No, she couldn't have married, nor had a child. She sighs and softens, -OK, Anne, lets say no more about it, and she gets out of the chair and walks around to the child weeping, in the chair, and puts an arm about her, feeling the shallow shakes, the sobs, the sight of the one leg, knowing a stump was beneath the skirt. - There, there, calm down, it is all too much for you after losing your leg, I'll have a word with the children and staff and explain about your pain. She holds the girl close to her breast, feeling her there, the catching of breath, the sobs, the shaking shoulders, and plants a kiss on the girl's black hair and head.
- Sorry, Sister Paul, Anne says, between her acted sobs, sniffing, wiping her nose, feeling the fart go away silently, like sneaky hound, all without sound.
The nun feels her heart open and close. - All right, Anne, you may go and rest your leg or stump, she says, going back to her chair and sitting there, watery eyed.
Anne lifts her head, pushes her hair from her eyes, sniffs and wipes her nose. -Thank you, Sister, you're like a mother to me. She pulls herself up from the chair with the crutch, feels the pain shoot through the stump, rubs it, pulls a face. - I'll go and rest it, she says, soft voiced, sobs held in check, head lowered. She crutches herself from the room slowly, sensing the nun's eyes on her, feeling a sense of fulfilment, like passing an audition, and lets the door click gently behind her.
Sister Paul sits and fingers the ruler. Sniffs and coughs softly. Feeling the girl's shoulders in her hands, the gentlest of touches, the sense, momentarily, of being a mother, compassion, concern, yes, it is there, she says inwardly, maybe I might have made a good mother after all had it been God's wishes, even if I had to put up with a man's touch for the duration. Thank God, she says softly inwardly, for my vocation .
My baby's cold and I don't know why
Tears greet me in the morning
I turn my thoughts to the auburn sky
Paying no heed to the storms warning
Hard to sit on a day like this
My baby's brown cheeks gleaming
Raven hair in a tangled mess
Still she's the one I'm needing
Her cold front chills me to the bone
A winter of a lover
In her forest deep but not alone
She'll thaw me out come summer
When April's warmth changes the scenery
My baby's mood will blossom
Like daffodil's in early spring
As birds serenade their loved ones
Till that cold chill wind blows back around
My baby's mood remembered
Black raven hair with a chocolate frown
As we bundle up for winter