amanda-fogerty - Hello Poetry

Before I knew you the buzz of a motorcycle never made me shiver Before we met guys in black never turned my head Before I saw you I was slowly falling for the sweet kind of boy who was falling for this guarded girl Before you texted me I didn’t know that obsession could feel like a sarcastic comment and sweaty palms, and jealousy Before you opened your mouth the skin on the back of my neck tingled, I felt like a beaten dog before you even knew you held the whip Before you complimented my *** I thought I looked about as **** as everyone’s kid sister, or cousin, or little neighbor girl Before you asked to be “friends” I didn’t realize benefits could actually scare the **** out of me and that a fantasy might come true Before we talked in my room I didn’t realize how tense I really was and just how blunt I could be Before you asked “Wanna hang out later?” I didn’t see that it was my body and that you weren’t trying to control just offering fun Before you turned on the blue Christmas lights I didn’t have a clue what mood lighting was how it could highlight your skin darken your eyes soften every inch of fabric Before you said “Come over here” I didn’t think that line was **** because that’s how my ex asked for a kiss Even before you told me you were kidding when you said “Okay, now leave” I knew you were going to walk back and kiss me again.

0

May 6, 2013

May 6, 2013 at 1:21 AM UTC

Before You

Before I knew you the buzz of a motorcycle never made me shiver Before we met guys in black never turned my head Before I saw you I was slowly falling for the sweet kind of boy who was falling for this guarded girl Before you texted me I didn’t know that obsession could feel like a sarcastic comment and sweaty palms, and jealousy Before you opened your mouth the skin on the back of my neck tingled, I felt like a beaten dog before you even knew you held the whip Before you complimented my *** I thought I looked about as **** as everyone’s kid sister, or cousin, or little neighbor girl Before you asked to be “friends” I didn’t realize benefits could actually scare the **** out of me and that a fantasy might come true Before we talked in my room I didn’t realize how tense I really was and just how blunt I could be Before you asked “Wanna hang out later?” I didn’t see that it was my body and that you weren’t trying to control just offering fun Before you turned on the blue Christmas lights I didn’t have a clue what mood lighting was how it could highlight your skin darken your eyes soften every inch of fabric Before you said “Come over here” I didn’t think that line was **** because that’s how my ex asked for a kiss Even before you told me you were kidding when you said “Okay, now leave” I knew you were going to walk back and kiss me again.

47

After the matter, he said he saw it like an old black-n-white because I had said I loved Cary Grant films. But I know now that he couldn’t have possibly because he told me he hated classics. We stood three baby steps away from each other on that beautifully manicured stretch of green. He smiled so widely and wildly, seeing as if through a sleeping gas dream haze, I, ever cautious, looked with clear, hard blue eyes and scrutinized and analyzed until the grass was jaded green and the blue sky was smudged with laundry grey clouds. He told me excitedly, in what he assumed was a lover’s pur, that he had something for me. I thought the tone was an aggressive command and I snapped my eyes back from the splotch of mud from my boots, and was horrified to find that I was now a mile away from him. How’d I end up here, and why didn’t he notice I wasn’t where he was? When I asked after the matter, he said with venom that he assumed I would follow, like I always did. He had pulled from his pocket a beating pink heart and stretched his arm out to me, but I shook my head. I can’t reach it from here, I really tried to let him hear. I am no where ready to take that! But he smirked with older superiority, a grin I had come to loathe, and brought his arm back behind his head, like a veteran pitcher at the mound, and followed through. But he was never in baseball, he was a speech kid in high school, he didn’t know how to throw, and the wind picked up that little pink heart like a paper plane. I tried, I really did. I ran until my lungs ignited with blood, pumped my legs until the muscles fell off, strained my hands and fingers forward until they were as long as red oaks in an ancient forest. But it wasn’t enough. I was still thousands of feet away from catching the weak little ball of emotion, because I hadn’t played ball since I was fifteen. The delicate little heart landed in this thick brown mud puddle. On such a lovingly cared for lawn, why was there a huge-ass mud pond?! I frantically waded in to try to and help it. When I found it, the heart was contentedly sitting in the mud as if it had landed in a warm kettle of chocolate. I was sad to see it so easily mislead, and knew I had to return because I knew I couldn’t clean this little bruised ****** As gently as I knew how, I eased it out of the mud, and stoically walked back to the boy who had so carelessly thrown his heart. Unfortunately, the grass was slicker than i thought, and the sun was in my eyes, and I guess I’m just clumsier than I thought, so about five steps away I tripped and dropped the fragile little heart. As the tender pink thing landed, finally it and he noticed the state everything was in. He looked down at the banged, muddy heart and I watched in fear as his eyes filled up. With quiet misunderstanding he asked how could this happen? Why did you do this? I must admit, I just can’t do displays of emotion, so I told him I was sorrier than words could say and as iron bars of guilt began to pile along my shoulders, I turned 180 degrees away from him. I felt his hand reach for me, but all he could grasp was my rustling skirt, and I couldn’t bare to see him, so I sprinted forward and let my dress rip to flowing shreds. The air from his screams helped pushed me into a flight. The sooner I disappeared, the sooner he’d take notice of his heart, I kept telling myself this, praying for this. After the matter, when I asked what he saw, all he said was a pretty girl that dropped his heart at his feet, and step on it, smeared it with her ***** boots. I deserved the harsh words, I do know that. This is no plea for the girl that broke your heart, but did you ever think she might have really tried, and it isn’t completely her fault? Sometimes she’s afraid to see your name on her phone because she can’t bare to see the beaten heart she just couldn’t save.

0

Feb 16, 2013

Feb 16, 2013 at 1:40 AM UTC

Guilt

After the matter, he said he saw it like an old black-n-white because I had said I loved Cary Grant films. But I know now that he couldn’t have possibly because he told me he hated classics. We stood three baby steps away from each other on that beautifully manicured stretch of green. He smiled so widely and wildly, seeing as if through a sleeping gas dream haze, I, ever cautious, looked with clear, hard blue eyes and scrutinized and analyzed until the grass was jaded green and the blue sky was smudged with laundry grey clouds. He told me excitedly, in what he assumed was a lover’s pur, that he had something for me. I thought the tone was an aggressive command and I snapped my eyes back from the splotch of mud from my boots, and was horrified to find that I was now a mile away from him. How’d I end up here, and why didn’t he notice I wasn’t where he was? When I asked after the matter, he said with venom that he assumed I would follow, like I always did. He had pulled from his pocket a beating pink heart and stretched his arm out to me, but I shook my head. I can’t reach it from here, I really tried to let him hear. I am no where ready to take that! But he smirked with older superiority, a grin I had come to loathe, and brought his arm back behind his head, like a veteran pitcher at the mound, and followed through. But he was never in baseball, he was a speech kid in high school, he didn’t know how to throw, and the wind picked up that little pink heart like a paper plane. I tried, I really did. I ran until my lungs ignited with blood, pumped my legs until the muscles fell off, strained my hands and fingers forward until they were as long as red oaks in an ancient forest. But it wasn’t enough. I was still thousands of feet away from catching the weak little ball of emotion, because I hadn’t played ball since I was fifteen. The delicate little heart landed in this thick brown mud puddle. On such a lovingly cared for lawn, why was there a huge-ass mud pond?! I frantically waded in to try to and help it. When I found it, the heart was contentedly sitting in the mud as if it had landed in a warm kettle of chocolate. I was sad to see it so easily mislead, and knew I had to return because I knew I couldn’t clean this little bruised ****** As gently as I knew how, I eased it out of the mud, and stoically walked back to the boy who had so carelessly thrown his heart. Unfortunately, the grass was slicker than i thought, and the sun was in my eyes, and I guess I’m just clumsier than I thought, so about five steps away I tripped and dropped the fragile little heart. As the tender pink thing landed, finally it and he noticed the state everything was in. He looked down at the banged, muddy heart and I watched in fear as his eyes filled up. With quiet misunderstanding he asked how could this happen? Why did you do this? I must admit, I just can’t do displays of emotion, so I told him I was sorrier than words could say and as iron bars of guilt began to pile along my shoulders, I turned 180 degrees away from him. I felt his hand reach for me, but all he could grasp was my rustling skirt, and I couldn’t bare to see him, so I sprinted forward and let my dress rip to flowing shreds. The air from his screams helped pushed me into a flight. The sooner I disappeared, the sooner he’d take notice of his heart, I kept telling myself this, praying for this. After the matter, when I asked what he saw, all he said was a pretty girl that dropped his heart at his feet, and step on it, smeared it with her ***** boots. I deserved the harsh words, I do know that. This is no plea for the girl that broke your heart, but did you ever think she might have really tried, and it isn’t completely her fault? Sometimes she’s afraid to see your name on her phone because she can’t bare to see the beaten heart she just couldn’t save.

82

Have you had a day where you’re filled with wild green energy and you just have to do something with it before it hiccups through your pores and hair? Today was like that, with mist pulled around snug, like a silencer on the world’s nerve to speak. And the people said the fog was scary, creepy like a bad horror film, posted pictures of it online like some bad 7th grade party from 3 years ago. I didn’t see it though, I was so wrapped up in my own **** Finally I got up and walked around campus, to walk off feelings of unrequited infatuation and restless rejection. At first all I saw was murk around bare brown trees as I imagined skeevy yellow leers around the corners. I turned up the pulsing purple music clenched in my fist and closed my eyes to block out it all. After the fifth sappy song I looked around and smelled the mist move in, looked up and watched the fog fall down, heard the street lamps buzz hungrily saw their lights bleed into the haze like a sluggish future scar. The fog was so lonely, so desperate for attention it was ******* away a night light’s only defense against bedtime boogie men. All the while I had wandered the mist had been there wanting me, shielding me from others craving my breath that tickled it’s jaded, gray overcast. The clouds had pulled away from the heavens to be with us mere mortals and all we did was **** them. I stood for a moment in shame and let the mist work it’s way through me hair, gently. I fished my selfish, pale hands from my pockets and let the fog chill them with vapory laugh. I breathed in more deeply letting the mist know that I was sorry that I had not noticed it sooner.

0

Feb 4, 2013

Feb 4, 2013 at 12:43 AM UTC

Mist

Have you had a day where you’re filled with wild green energy and you just have to do something with it before it hiccups through your pores and hair? Today was like that, with mist pulled around snug, like a silencer on the world’s nerve to speak. And the people said the fog was scary, creepy like a bad horror film, posted pictures of it online like some bad 7th grade party from 3 years ago. I didn’t see it though, I was so wrapped up in my own **** Finally I got up and walked around campus, to walk off feelings of unrequited infatuation and restless rejection. At first all I saw was murk around bare brown trees as I imagined skeevy yellow leers around the corners. I turned up the pulsing purple music clenched in my fist and closed my eyes to block out it all. After the fifth sappy song I looked around and smelled the mist move in, looked up and watched the fog fall down, heard the street lamps buzz hungrily saw their lights bleed into the haze like a sluggish future scar. The fog was so lonely, so desperate for attention it was ******* away a night light’s only defense against bedtime boogie men. All the while I had wandered the mist had been there wanting me, shielding me from others craving my breath that tickled it’s jaded, gray overcast. The clouds had pulled away from the heavens to be with us mere mortals and all we did was **** them. I stood for a moment in shame and let the mist work it’s way through me hair, gently. I fished my selfish, pale hands from my pockets and let the fog chill them with vapory laugh. I breathed in more deeply letting the mist know that I was sorry that I had not noticed it sooner.

61

So I heard once that there’s always some gnarly looking carrot in every bag of carrots and you’re supposed make a wish on it if you get it. But I didn’t have a bag of veggies I had a jar of Gumby and Poki shaped gummies. Finally the day came when there were only two Gumbys left. One was bent in half and smashed together and the other looked as all the rest had. I pulled out the sad little gummy and made a wish like it was some ugly carrot. I wished my crush would kiss me, And giddily I walked to a coffee house because I was hoping he would be there even though I sternly told myself that he had no reason to be there. I found the coffee house closed and knew my wish wasn’t happening that night. I talked with a friend about my woes and she confessed her heartache. We smiled and laughed and died just a little on the inside. We had hoped that in college we wouldn’t feel like middle school girls with unrequited crushes. The next day he dropped off a fish (and this is no euphemism or pretty poetry slang, I opted to fish-sit while he went home for break). After he left, and feeling more than silly I took out the last Gumby and pretended. I pretended that it was every wish on a boy I had made since I realized boys weren’t completely disgusting. On my way to class I held the little gummy in my frozen, clenched fist and wished that’d he’d kiss me before he left. I made it really specific because every movie I’d ever seen with genies in it had taught me that specifics were key to avoiding mishap and mayhem. Obviously, it didn’t come true. And I feel like I’m back in middle school, wishing on ugly carrots and stars that look suspiciously like airplanes. Everyone has crushes, and still more wishes. Why I thought at the age of nineteen when the glamour of Disney-endings and romantic-comedy plots had tarnished to realism, that a Gumby gummy prayer would come true, well I’m not entirely sure. Maybe it’s no matter how old you are there are always ugly carrots and shooting stars and fast airplanes and romantic comedies and gummies in the shape of kids’ show characters. Maybe no matter how disappointed I am there will always be unrequited crushes and genies for wishes and God for prayers and heaven forbid hope.

0

Feb 1, 2013

Feb 1, 2013 at 11:53 PM UTC

Ugly Carrots and Gummy Gumbys

So I heard once that there’s always some gnarly looking carrot in every bag of carrots and you’re supposed make a wish on it if you get it. But I didn’t have a bag of veggies I had a jar of Gumby and Poki shaped gummies. Finally the day came when there were only two Gumbys left. One was bent in half and smashed together and the other looked as all the rest had. I pulled out the sad little gummy and made a wish like it was some ugly carrot. I wished my crush would kiss me, And giddily I walked to a coffee house because I was hoping he would be there even though I sternly told myself that he had no reason to be there. I found the coffee house closed and knew my wish wasn’t happening that night. I talked with a friend about my woes and she confessed her heartache. We smiled and laughed and died just a little on the inside. We had hoped that in college we wouldn’t feel like middle school girls with unrequited crushes. The next day he dropped off a fish (and this is no euphemism or pretty poetry slang, I opted to fish-sit while he went home for break). After he left, and feeling more than silly I took out the last Gumby and pretended. I pretended that it was every wish on a boy I had made since I realized boys weren’t completely disgusting. On my way to class I held the little gummy in my frozen, clenched fist and wished that’d he’d kiss me before he left. I made it really specific because every movie I’d ever seen with genies in it had taught me that specifics were key to avoiding mishap and mayhem. Obviously, it didn’t come true. And I feel like I’m back in middle school, wishing on ugly carrots and stars that look suspiciously like airplanes. Everyone has crushes, and still more wishes. Why I thought at the age of nineteen when the glamour of Disney-endings and romantic-comedy plots had tarnished to realism, that a Gumby gummy prayer would come true, well I’m not entirely sure. Maybe it’s no matter how old you are there are always ugly carrots and shooting stars and fast airplanes and romantic comedies and gummies in the shape of kids’ show characters. Maybe no matter how disappointed I am there will always be unrequited crushes and genies for wishes and God for prayers and heaven forbid hope.

80