CountRayma - Hello Poetry

my body is a symphony of sounds like the snap —crackle— pop! of my bones as i stretch and climb the stairs, the thud. thud. thud. of my heart, frantic in its rest. a shrill ringing underpins it all when my ears ***** to a phantom sound, the \gasping\ |huffing| _sighing_ keeps the beat of uncooperative lungs. my body, like an old house where teenagers throw a party, finding a way to keep it alive for one more night.

0

Mar 10, 2023

Mar 10, 2023 at 4:01 PM UTC

symphony in b minor

my body is a symphony of sounds like the snap —crackle— pop! of my bones as i stretch and climb the stairs, the thud. thud. thud. of my heart, frantic in its rest. a shrill ringing underpins it all when my ears ***** to a phantom sound, the \gasping\ |huffing| _sighing_ keeps the beat of uncooperative lungs. my body, like an old house where teenagers throw a party, finding a way to keep it alive for one more night.

20

there are people so far removed from your life who will tell you that your parents love you regardless of how they behave. “they still love you” over and over until the bail is posted, and the court case is won, and you simply stop taking their calls. gone are the days i ever thought blood to be thicker than water, when i bought the myth that parents love their children unconditionally. what they cannot bear to know? children don’t love their parents unconditionally either.

0

Feb 3, 2023

Feb 3, 2023 at 12:50 PM UTC

unconditional

there are people so far removed from your life who will tell you that your parents love you regardless of how they behave. “they still love you” over and over until the bail is posted, and the court case is won, and you simply stop taking their calls. gone are the days i ever thought blood to be thicker than water, when i bought the myth that parents love their children unconditionally. what they cannot bear to know? children don’t love their parents unconditionally either.

15

i dont want to sleep. i want to keep chasing stardust on lips i'll never taste, reaching for jupiter when she shines so brightly in the sky, reminding me of all that could've been— could still be. never was. god, these sleepless hours, the way the stories chase themselves around my head, louder than dreams too fleeting. there's a silence here, in the night, when everything is still. a promise that everything could be okay. could be. and then the dawn puts stardust to bed, and i'm left chasing something i never even got a taste of.

0

Jan 28, 2023

Jan 28, 2023 at 6:59 PM UTC

sleepless in stardust

i dont want to sleep. i want to keep chasing stardust on lips i'll never taste, reaching for jupiter when she shines so brightly in the sky, reminding me of all that could've been— could still be. never was. god, these sleepless hours, the way the stories chase themselves around my head, louder than dreams too fleeting. there's a silence here, in the night, when everything is still. a promise that everything could be okay. could be. and then the dawn puts stardust to bed, and i'm left chasing something i never even got a taste of.

16

i have a talent for erasing my feelings, scrubbing the scene until there’s no trace left except for the spots only i notice that look unfamiliar in sterility. it’s an easy thing to do, nipping it in the bud – so easy that sometimes i wonder if i ever really felt those things. nowadays i find myself cleaning more than usual.

0

Jan 28, 2023

Jan 28, 2023 at 6:57 PM UTC

caution tape

i have a talent for erasing my feelings, scrubbing the scene until there’s no trace left except for the spots only i notice that look unfamiliar in sterility. it’s an easy thing to do, nipping it in the bud – so easy that sometimes i wonder if i ever really felt those things. nowadays i find myself cleaning more than usual.

7

like icarus flying too close to the sun, i reached out and touched a spark that was never meant for me, an open flame that burned me alive and snuffed out all the life around.

0

Jan 28, 2023

Jan 28, 2023 at 6:52 PM UTC

and icarus fell too soon

like icarus flying too close to the sun, i reached out and touched a spark that was never meant for me, an open flame that burned me alive and snuffed out all the life around.

4

to some, i am a person worthy of righteous protection, the blind spot beneath the tree where dandelions sometimes get trampled. i am never enough yet always too much—the drive-by friend you can wait to see. on the inside lies a multiverse of goods and bads, talents and failures. sometimes i’m pretty, sometimes i’m not, but i am always something to behold. and to you? the one who changes the focus like an optometrist, “one…or two?” until my multiverse unites. a good writer, a good singer, a good friend; the little things others don’t find funny that always make you laugh; the validation i’ve been searching for, an honesty that lets me trust myself a little more. to you i hope to be an eternity, a couple of shambling girls united against a world that doesn’t always have space for people like us.

0

Oct 15, 2022

Oct 15, 2022 at 1:51 PM UTC

shambling

to some, i am a person worthy of righteous protection, the blind spot beneath the tree where dandelions sometimes get trampled. i am never enough yet always too much—the drive-by friend you can wait to see. on the inside lies a multiverse of goods and bads, talents and failures. sometimes i’m pretty, sometimes i’m not, but i am always something to behold. and to you? the one who changes the focus like an optometrist, “one…or two?” until my multiverse unites. a good writer, a good singer, a good friend; the little things others don’t find funny that always make you laugh; the validation i’ve been searching for, an honesty that lets me trust myself a little more. to you i hope to be an eternity, a couple of shambling girls united against a world that doesn’t always have space for people like us.

20

the discovery of love comes in fits and starts, beginning with open arms and lullabies and the things you hope you’ll always hold trust in. next you discover sleepovers and nights spent talking about the things you can’t tell anyone else, the kind of love you hope will last a lifetime. when you’re older and you meet someone you could talk to for hours, your first kiss beneath the orange glow of streetlamps, you think you’ve found it again. when someone else takes you in their arms, and you look at the forest when you should look at the trees, you can confidently say that this is love until time keeps passing and your future grows nearer, and suddenly you see someone else in it. rings that are pre-infinite, plans that seem pre-destined, the person whose hands you’d rest your life in. sometimes you hit a snag, but the detour is all a part of the journey – familiar sights seen through fresh eyes, a broadening of your definitions, your boundaries, a glimpse at the whole You. and now there’s another question-riddled entry under “love,” with scribbles in the margins saying it should always feel this good. i love myself more because you show me the parts that are loveable. maybe that’s the way it should be. maybe that’s the final entry.

0

Oct 15, 2022

Oct 15, 2022 at 1:46 PM UTC

love \ˈləv\ noun

the discovery of love comes in fits and starts, beginning with open arms and lullabies and the things you hope you’ll always hold trust in. next you discover sleepovers and nights spent talking about the things you can’t tell anyone else, the kind of love you hope will last a lifetime. when you’re older and you meet someone you could talk to for hours, your first kiss beneath the orange glow of streetlamps, you think you’ve found it again. when someone else takes you in their arms, and you look at the forest when you should look at the trees, you can confidently say that this is love until time keeps passing and your future grows nearer, and suddenly you see someone else in it. rings that are pre-infinite, plans that seem pre-destined, the person whose hands you’d rest your life in. sometimes you hit a snag, but the detour is all a part of the journey – familiar sights seen through fresh eyes, a broadening of your definitions, your boundaries, a glimpse at the whole You. and now there’s another question-riddled entry under “love,” with scribbles in the margins saying it should always feel this good. i love myself more because you show me the parts that are loveable. maybe that’s the way it should be. maybe that’s the final entry.

29

the way i interact with people gives them bite-sized pieces – a wince, a sigh, a rant about the last appointment. i catch myself in surprise when i say i was at the doctor and they ask if i’m okay, two question marks in their voice, and i can’t help but laugh before i say yes. i guess most people go to the doctor for physicals and check-ups, maybe for strep throat or a sprain, and not for half an answer, weeks of waitlists, waiting. maybe they’ll even see me tired, puffy-eyed and curled up on the couch like i came with it, feeling like a drag when i shake my head and say i’ll stay while they go. in little moments, if they’re looking, they’ll see me labor up the stairs, an amused echo of ‘_but you’re so young_!’ flashing through my mind as each step sends a sharp pain through my knees. “you go first,” i insist, hanging back with a smile before climbing in their wake.

0

Oct 15, 2022

Oct 15, 2022 at 1:41 PM UTC

maybe i should start writing about the day-to-day, instead of what they took away.

the way i interact with people gives them bite-sized pieces – a wince, a sigh, a rant about the last appointment. i catch myself in surprise when i say i was at the doctor and they ask if i’m okay, two question marks in their voice, and i can’t help but laugh before i say yes. i guess most people go to the doctor for physicals and check-ups, maybe for strep throat or a sprain, and not for half an answer, weeks of waitlists, waiting. maybe they’ll even see me tired, puffy-eyed and curled up on the couch like i came with it, feeling like a drag when i shake my head and say i’ll stay while they go. in little moments, if they’re looking, they’ll see me labor up the stairs, an amused echo of ‘_but you’re so young_!’ flashing through my mind as each step sends a sharp pain through my knees. “you go first,” i insist, hanging back with a smile before climbing in their wake.

18

if there’s one thing i’m good at, it’s unrequired loved – i even wrote a song about it when i was 13, though it wasn’t love back then. maybe i could place first in a talent show if i clambered up on stage and told them about every single almost.

0

Oct 15, 2022

Oct 15, 2022 at 1:37 PM UTC

almost

if there’s one thing i’m good at, it’s unrequired loved – i even wrote a song about it when i was 13, though it wasn’t love back then. maybe i could place first in a talent show if i clambered up on stage and told them about every single almost.

10

i'm watching from inside a glass case, the delicate pieces of time immemorial arranged in displays around me, layouts they memorize but never really notice. when someone passes by the pieces all quiver, fragile ceramics in a chorus of jingles trying to catch their attention. but the sound becomes a part of the backdrop, like the slightest groan of a floorboard beneath the rug or the squeak of a cabinet door. we rattle closer to the edge, pressing our faces against the glass to get a glimpse of home: still-lifes done by a familiar hand, worn wooden floors that don’t match the rest, a room that hasn’t been painted in decades. a few times each year on special occasions you open the cabinet door and let us adorn the dinner table. and then it’s back to our shelves, watching from behind the glass, waiting for a glimpse of home.

0

Aug 8, 2022

Aug 8, 2022 at 5:16 PM UTC

letters from the glass display

i'm watching from inside a glass case, the delicate pieces of time immemorial arranged in displays around me, layouts they memorize but never really notice. when someone passes by the pieces all quiver, fragile ceramics in a chorus of jingles trying to catch their attention. but the sound becomes a part of the backdrop, like the slightest groan of a floorboard beneath the rug or the squeak of a cabinet door. we rattle closer to the edge, pressing our faces against the glass to get a glimpse of home: still-lifes done by a familiar hand, worn wooden floors that don’t match the rest, a room that hasn’t been painted in decades. a few times each year on special occasions you open the cabinet door and let us adorn the dinner table. and then it’s back to our shelves, watching from behind the glass, waiting for a glimpse of home.

25