candide-baileyWhisper

American
Sort
all these **** rootsleaves fall like footsteps / left at the scene of a crime / culprit in plain sight
3
Jan 19, 2013
A Sculpture I MadeYou lose it slowly, piece by piece. Whatever bit of purity you thought you had left and that last bit of hope for an effortless race. It doesn’t depart from you in some grand gesture. No, no. It is slowly whittled away by the hands of fine craftsmen. Men who saw the potential you held. Some blows are harder to take than others; time is not always patient with what must go. And you are eager to become something new, while remaining roughly defined. But each chip removed is one you will never get back. You may find yourself longing for a small piece of yourself to return, but you will realize that each tear shed is the first and last of that sliver of self you will see. / Each vision of what you would best become is different, so you must not let too many hands work at once. If you are lucky, your own hands will be freed and image left for you to define. But this may take some foolery, as you must first gain their trust. You will find it difficult to willingly let go of some parts, but it helps to envision their reform into something you want more. Sometimes you are wrong, with no one to blame but yourself. And even if freedom is yours, you may find it is easier to let others carve away, but doing this will make you a foreigner to yourself. The harder you are to form into their desires, the less interest they will have to do so. Only then might you truly be forced to decide for yourself. Only then might they be surprised with what they didn’t know they could find beautiful.
2
Nov 9, 2012
China CabinetShe wanders. / To herself, / Imagines a cup
26
Apr 17, 2011
Current FlowWater, it spreads so thin / That the fish have nowhere to swim / Sunshine, it tries
33
Jun 10, 2011
Did she ever?I walked up and picked up / I walked on and dropped off / like clockwork
21
Apr 17, 2011
don't wake me upthis body is yours to do with what you please / and if you find your hand is creeping; / to separate the knees
9
Jan 19, 2013
FinishIt's the sun's morning light that has got you so blind / That right at this time it feels warm on your skin / So you tilt your head back
30
Apr 19, 2011
HappyI found a box under your bed / you seem ashamed of what it said / I covered my eyes, though it's no surprise
15
Nov 4, 2013
HopeI am alone. I was alone then, and I am alone now. I cried alone when my lungs felt the first shock of air. I cried of loneliness. I cried alone to the God I denounced when my father fell ill. We all cry alone. I cried alone on an air mattress, frozen in fear at the sound of the heavy breathing hovering above that woke me up to a friend’s brother turned invader. I cried again when a study session put me to sleep and a tutor had more on his mind. When it was over, in silence I cried. For the reasons I cry, I am not the only one, but the control of my tears is mine to hold alone. And I am out of control, and I cry and I cry because I feel so alone. But sometimes I can’t. Sometimes my heart stops, and my mouth sours, and my stomach tries to escape through my pores. Sometimes I can’t talk and I am paralyzed. And sometimes I smack my head on the bathroom floor after a night of blurring the lines. Sometimes I am lost because I am the only hope.
1
Nov 4, 2013
in my place?A stock image that shows a loading dock partially covered in sand: / A dock rises from dirt to bridge an entrance / The surrounding lake seems placid upon first glance,
16
Nov 27, 2012
Explore
Hello PoetryVoting
Write