amanda-clarity - Hello Poetry

I want you to, I want you to, care, fully, read, understand, and love, things like, my favorite books. Like what you read between the lines… the feelings that seem to emerge from reading a combination of words, are about something bigger than you, and I. Its just, I want myself to desperately stop, the constant feeling of not being able to breathe and writing, It seems like an endless trap filled with blinking cursors and an empty pages about sweet nothings, and memories that you, that you…made sure stayed between us like unspoken promises. Its complicated I want you I want you to feel to love those things that made me like the flaws and imperfections… I I understand the feeling of drowning now, I desperately do, because now you know what its like to really know, love people like you… you. Its complicated. I want you to I want you to Want me. Know what it feels to not be able to breathe.

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Oct 18, 2014

Oct 18, 2014 at 12:25 AM UTC

amanda-clarity

Read Between My Lines

I want you to, I want you to, care, fully, read, understand, and love, things like, my favorite books. Like what you read between the lines… the feelings that seem to emerge from reading a combination of words, are about something bigger than you, and I. Its just, I want myself to desperately stop, the constant feeling of not being able to breathe and writing, It seems like an endless trap filled with blinking cursors and an empty pages about sweet nothings, and memories that you, that you…made sure stayed between us like unspoken promises. Its complicated I want you I want you to feel to love those things that made me like the flaws and imperfections… I I understand the feeling of drowning now, I desperately do, because now you know what its like to really know, love people like you… you. Its complicated. I want you to I want you to Want me. Know what it feels to not be able to breathe.

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(WARNING FETUS POEM, UNDER CONSTRUCTION, 1ST UNREVISED DRAFT DONT JUDGE) My pen must be tired of bleeding on pages for you it might feel used as if I only pick it up to write words like tragedy cry leave goodbye. I don't know what words I'd use now to describe you now I remember how you once apologized that words were the only thing you had the only thing we have to share and what I should have but didn't say was I think that words and the brush of a pen are one of the most beautiful things to exist apart from our story. I think "You're my silver lining." is a close combination of words I'd use because I know you like the back of my hand and the roadmap that will lead us thousands of miles apart towards similar goals and identical places. You and I "We." exist only in midpoint and in white and blue sometimes green and white if there is really bad signal. We know of our friend's stories but not their laughs or their voices. We only know each others. Friend, I love you. No, not in love with you. But I'd be lying if I said what we share is only a silly connection and I guess I"ll end this poem now because my pen must be tired of bleeding on pages for you.

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Oct 10, 2014

Oct 10, 2014 at 6:07 PM UTC

amanda-clarity

An impromptu poem

(WARNING FETUS POEM, UNDER CONSTRUCTION, 1ST UNREVISED DRAFT DONT JUDGE) My pen must be tired of bleeding on pages for you it might feel used as if I only pick it up to write words like tragedy cry leave goodbye. I don't know what words I'd use now to describe you now I remember how you once apologized that words were the only thing you had the only thing we have to share and what I should have but didn't say was I think that words and the brush of a pen are one of the most beautiful things to exist apart from our story. I think "You're my silver lining." is a close combination of words I'd use because I know you like the back of my hand and the roadmap that will lead us thousands of miles apart towards similar goals and identical places. You and I "We." exist only in midpoint and in white and blue sometimes green and white if there is really bad signal. We know of our friend's stories but not their laughs or their voices. We only know each others. Friend, I love you. No, not in love with you. But I'd be lying if I said what we share is only a silly connection and I guess I"ll end this poem now because my pen must be tired of bleeding on pages for you.

48

Dear summer boy, I hate the idea of you. I hate how you walk four steps ahead your shoulders proud, walking around, eyes looking at all the possibilities the world, this park, and this town has to offer. I hate the skip to your walk the pearly whites that show when you smile. I write this in purple ink in my notebook because blue ink is to remember, and black ink is to make you official as if I were printing you on a page if my life were a book and we as permanent as ink. You are not permanent. I am not permanent, The number four and the word “stupid” i see branded in my reflection will go away. Boy, I am not in love with you. I will not remember the feel of you holding my hand in a years time. Still, I will not settle. I will not settle for a pat in the back a sorry excuse of a goodbye, words given to me on a piece of paper that like myself, has rough and broken edges and a signature like you— that is illegible. I want my words from me to you, back so I can eventually give them to someone who does not see me as an addition to a list or a number on a scale. I want looks exchanged across a room and tears spilled on my cheeks as we kissed returned because boy, I hate how charming you are. I hate your stupid dance moves and the black and white shirt that hung in your dorm. The way you looked at me from underneath sunglasses, cute grins reserved only for me (so I thought at the time), the memory of the night when land rolled by us and rain poured on my face, that was resting on your shoulder as the wind whispered “this could be forever” I hate the softness of your lips and most importantly boy, I hate how you walk four steps ahead your shoulders proud walking around, eyes looking at all the possibilities the world has to offer. After all, I was walking four feet behind and I could see your back whilst looking at what the opportunities that this park, town, and world had. That I did not see an option because you were a possibility. A possibility I never was for you. Because you were four steps ahead and I was not in sight. Dear summer boy, I was so in love with the idea of you.

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Sep 21, 2014

Sep 21, 2014 at 11:27 PM UTC

amanda-clarity

Dear Summer Boy,

Dear summer boy, I hate the idea of you. I hate how you walk four steps ahead your shoulders proud, walking around, eyes looking at all the possibilities the world, this park, and this town has to offer. I hate the skip to your walk the pearly whites that show when you smile. I write this in purple ink in my notebook because blue ink is to remember, and black ink is to make you official as if I were printing you on a page if my life were a book and we as permanent as ink. You are not permanent. I am not permanent, The number four and the word “stupid” i see branded in my reflection will go away. Boy, I am not in love with you. I will not remember the feel of you holding my hand in a years time. Still, I will not settle. I will not settle for a pat in the back a sorry excuse of a goodbye, words given to me on a piece of paper that like myself, has rough and broken edges and a signature like you— that is illegible. I want my words from me to you, back so I can eventually give them to someone who does not see me as an addition to a list or a number on a scale. I want looks exchanged across a room and tears spilled on my cheeks as we kissed returned because boy, I hate how charming you are. I hate your stupid dance moves and the black and white shirt that hung in your dorm. The way you looked at me from underneath sunglasses, cute grins reserved only for me (so I thought at the time), the memory of the night when land rolled by us and rain poured on my face, that was resting on your shoulder as the wind whispered “this could be forever” I hate the softness of your lips and most importantly boy, I hate how you walk four steps ahead your shoulders proud walking around, eyes looking at all the possibilities the world has to offer. After all, I was walking four feet behind and I could see your back whilst looking at what the opportunities that this park, town, and world had. That I did not see an option because you were a possibility. A possibility I never was for you. Because you were four steps ahead and I was not in sight. Dear summer boy, I was so in love with the idea of you.

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