elizabeth-raine - Hello Poetry

Ask me, Ask me now daddy. What I want to do when I grow up. I want to be happy. No, not happy I want to be happiness. I want to be joy and cheer and admiration Confidence and peace and optimism I don’t want to be like others, no, I want to be love. The smile that comes across your face when they say your name, The look that makes your heart skip a beat, The song that makes you rethink every second you spent together. I don’t wanna be the poem, I wanna be the emotion behind it, Not the first kiss, let me be the nerves, Not the dance, let me be the excitement, Not the Officiant, let me be the vows. When I grow up, I don’t wanna be a doctor mommy. I want to be the feeling when someone’s told there’s a cure, Or when a parent finds out their child will live to be a teenager, Or maybe I want to be 3 in the morning when a mother holds her child for the first time. I want to be affection and adoration and passion Oh, I want to be passion. Let me be passion. So that you cannot do without me, because nothing without me has meaning. So that when you are playing the final strain or scoring the winning goal, Or writing the last chapter or finishing the last paint stroke, You will think of me. Maybe I’ll be allegiance or devotion or respect. I won’t be the soldier, I’ll be the loyalty. Or the surprise in a child's heart when their dad comes home early, Maybe I’ll be the feeling when a father meets his baby for the first time, And the child already knows his name. I want to be piety and faith and worship. I don’t want to be the pastor, I’ll be the lesson. Maybe I’ll be the obligation behind the first baptism or first communion. Maybe I’ll be the words when someone so low is told someone loves them. I’ll be the salvation of the gospel, The redemption to the guilty, The forgiveness to the sinners. When I grow up, I want to be the opposite of sorrow, The antonym of misery, The reverse of fear, The contradiction of rejection, The antithesis of disappointment, The inverse of insecurity, I want to be the alleviation of anxiety, The ease of pain, When I grow up, I want to be happy.

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Nov 20, 2013

Nov 20, 2013 at 10:17 AM UTC

Happiness (After Sekou the Misfit)

Ask me, Ask me now daddy. What I want to do when I grow up. I want to be happy. No, not happy I want to be happiness. I want to be joy and cheer and admiration Confidence and peace and optimism I don’t want to be like others, no, I want to be love. The smile that comes across your face when they say your name, The look that makes your heart skip a beat, The song that makes you rethink every second you spent together. I don’t wanna be the poem, I wanna be the emotion behind it, Not the first kiss, let me be the nerves, Not the dance, let me be the excitement, Not the Officiant, let me be the vows. When I grow up, I don’t wanna be a doctor mommy. I want to be the feeling when someone’s told there’s a cure, Or when a parent finds out their child will live to be a teenager, Or maybe I want to be 3 in the morning when a mother holds her child for the first time. I want to be affection and adoration and passion Oh, I want to be passion. Let me be passion. So that you cannot do without me, because nothing without me has meaning. So that when you are playing the final strain or scoring the winning goal, Or writing the last chapter or finishing the last paint stroke, You will think of me. Maybe I’ll be allegiance or devotion or respect. I won’t be the soldier, I’ll be the loyalty. Or the surprise in a child's heart when their dad comes home early, Maybe I’ll be the feeling when a father meets his baby for the first time, And the child already knows his name. I want to be piety and faith and worship. I don’t want to be the pastor, I’ll be the lesson. Maybe I’ll be the obligation behind the first baptism or first communion. Maybe I’ll be the words when someone so low is told someone loves them. I’ll be the salvation of the gospel, The redemption to the guilty, The forgiveness to the sinners. When I grow up, I want to be the opposite of sorrow, The antonym of misery, The reverse of fear, The contradiction of rejection, The antithesis of disappointment, The inverse of insecurity, I want to be the alleviation of anxiety, The ease of pain, When I grow up, I want to be happy.

50

My cousin’s hair was the shade of eggshells, or snow on a winter afternoon. Skin pale porcelain under long sleeve, hoodies and sweatshirts, jeans tight on thighs, tense. Trace of blood peeks from under her sleeves. Strawberry syrup, sweet nectar dripping from pancake skin. Hot like the burns from the radiator she hugged as a child thinking a warm friend. Or the bug bite, poisonous from a friendly looking spider: hours in the hospital, followed by angry car rides to homes that weren't. She didn't catch fire, she was flames, melting girl known for naked nails, long legs under black jeans and a hoodie in July. She slept the days away in her room. Stuffed teddy bear, razor blades, no longer hidden out of sight. There was no one there to see. For weeks she wasn't seen, a putrid smell resulting. Her bamboo plant left wilting in the kitchen. Spiders watch from far corners.

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Nov 20, 2013

Nov 20, 2013 at 10:12 AM UTC

After Mary

My cousin’s hair was the shade of eggshells, or snow on a winter afternoon. Skin pale porcelain under long sleeve, hoodies and sweatshirts, jeans tight on thighs, tense. Trace of blood peeks from under her sleeves. Strawberry syrup, sweet nectar dripping from pancake skin. Hot like the burns from the radiator she hugged as a child thinking a warm friend. Or the bug bite, poisonous from a friendly looking spider: hours in the hospital, followed by angry car rides to homes that weren't. She didn't catch fire, she was flames, melting girl known for naked nails, long legs under black jeans and a hoodie in July. She slept the days away in her room. Stuffed teddy bear, razor blades, no longer hidden out of sight. There was no one there to see. For weeks she wasn't seen, a putrid smell resulting. Her bamboo plant left wilting in the kitchen. Spiders watch from far corners.

33

Look men made a habit out of wanting her see men like blondes men like curves men like *** some men want it all because I guess all men want to date actresses Norma Jean little girl never had a home passed around like nothing never had a home and was passed door to door abandoned because her mother lost her marbles a girl who was only wanted by men since childhood Norma Jean she heard a chorus of lies every time someone called her name and she was not good enough so she dyed her hair not good enough so she changed her name not good enough so she became an object and when she could act no more when she looked into the mirror and couldn't see herself looking back it was not good enough Marilyn a star with the most useful tool looks but couldn't focus the little things so three men left instead she focused on the audiences clapping focused on the people loving her focused on the men in the front row whispering Marilyn as they let her beauty invade their souls like a main street ballyhoo playing praise to her not knowing each note was bittersweet making her feel elated and crushed crushed beneath the chains holding her too strongly to her past behind every compliment she felt his wandering hands the hands of a man an orphan was supposed to call father or the hands of a boy the boy she was supposed to call brother because her whole life she was only wanted for one thing and the men in the crowds only echoed what she had known all along that she was not good enough so she dyed her hair not good enough so she changed her name not good enough so she became their object not good enough so they mocked the woman who only aimed to please calling out to her holding her up not knowing she would fall see the depressed have an intimacy with death it’s there in their dreams but sticks around for their nightmares and the fans turned to one another trying to determine the distance between joy and sorrow not realizing that depression can push the distance making the tallest mountains look like ant hills creating decrescendos so soft they fade out of existence and for a moment it felt like the entire universe had begun to cry distance must be an illusion the woman can’t be dead Marilyn her life taken transforming the way people think about emotions and for an instant it was like sadness was a tangible thing like you could reach out and feel it like for the first time you could see happiness and sadness tango in a dance so slow and delicate that we finally understood the history was so important to know the woman all we ever had to do was look.

0

Nov 20, 2013

Nov 20, 2013 at 10:06 AM UTC

Monroe (After Koyczan's Beethoven)

Look men made a habit out of wanting her see men like blondes men like curves men like *** some men want it all because I guess all men want to date actresses Norma Jean little girl never had a home passed around like nothing never had a home and was passed door to door abandoned because her mother lost her marbles a girl who was only wanted by men since childhood Norma Jean she heard a chorus of lies every time someone called her name and she was not good enough so she dyed her hair not good enough so she changed her name not good enough so she became an object and when she could act no more when she looked into the mirror and couldn't see herself looking back it was not good enough Marilyn a star with the most useful tool looks but couldn't focus the little things so three men left instead she focused on the audiences clapping focused on the people loving her focused on the men in the front row whispering Marilyn as they let her beauty invade their souls like a main street ballyhoo playing praise to her not knowing each note was bittersweet making her feel elated and crushed crushed beneath the chains holding her too strongly to her past behind every compliment she felt his wandering hands the hands of a man an orphan was supposed to call father or the hands of a boy the boy she was supposed to call brother because her whole life she was only wanted for one thing and the men in the crowds only echoed what she had known all along that she was not good enough so she dyed her hair not good enough so she changed her name not good enough so she became their object not good enough so they mocked the woman who only aimed to please calling out to her holding her up not knowing she would fall see the depressed have an intimacy with death it’s there in their dreams but sticks around for their nightmares and the fans turned to one another trying to determine the distance between joy and sorrow not realizing that depression can push the distance making the tallest mountains look like ant hills creating decrescendos so soft they fade out of existence and for a moment it felt like the entire universe had begun to cry distance must be an illusion the woman can’t be dead Marilyn her life taken transforming the way people think about emotions and for an instant it was like sadness was a tangible thing like you could reach out and feel it like for the first time you could see happiness and sadness tango in a dance so slow and delicate that we finally understood the history was so important to know the woman all we ever had to do was look.

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