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elliot-jane-lewenhart
elliot-jane-lewenhart
American
1 In constant consonance Love, in it's minimalistic sonata Plays a slow stitched waltz Into the cough syrup Haze of memories 2 When love was just a Second-hand suggestion A rebellious rose Reaching recklessly For a remarkable reaction Finds a score left unfinished From years past 3 In pointe shoes Two bodies dance a Painful coloratura Yet in the midst of This pa de deux Love remembers contentment
0
Jul 2, 2016
Jul 2, 2016 at 6:15 AM UTC
Three Steps
It wasn't expected The way her hand Intertwined with mine Beauty snuggled gently Into my skin And slowly confidence Grasped back
0
Feb 4, 2016
Feb 4, 2016 at 4:56 AM UTC
Confidence
I left a little of my love for her in the waters edge. The rise and fall of the tide, tinted gold by sunset. I remember how she loves the beach. The feeling of warmth, Being kissed by the sun, cooled by the bubbling serine waters. I left a little of my love for her in my dance shoes. The twinkles of a rhythm in every step of tele-tones. The beauty and hardship in my grishkos. I remember how much she loves to dance. The energy in her body as she danced across a floor. Lightning, glowing plasma moving strong and sharp. Summoning pure love for her craft with every step. I remember how she could completely change for a dance, Become someone, something, so different from the girl I saw inside. I left a little of my love In the music. Allowing my fingers to play for more love, More love. Kissing each note that left my lips Telling them Find her, Reach my love for me Each note sung for her like a siren ‘Feel my love. Know it. It is the truest thing of me. It is my song.’ She always said she loved my voice. And and I would sing only for her. I left a little of my love in the poetry. In FaceTime chats, Helping her write lines for class, Her flustered tones, As she struggled writing the prose That so easily came to me in starlight. When I was in love. Every poem was about her, My love. The lines of my heartstrings Written in rhythmic prose I could have written about her forever, How her hair bounced like fizzy pop The way she walked, As if she were always onstage. I fell in love with the rhyme in her steps. I left a little of my self with her I don’t know if she can feel it. The love I left with her, A letter with a return address. She may never send it back, But it will always be there in her, In friendship. I am waiting for the first meeting To relive the first time we talked. I do not need lost love, Yet I miss friendship lost in time step, The amity in backstage jokes, And crocheted scarves. So Should she ever need love, I will always be here for her.
0
Feb 2, 2016
Feb 2, 2016 at 3:37 AM UTC
Where I Left Her
I left a little of my love for her in the waters edge. The rise and fall of the tide, tinted gold by sunset. I remember how she loves the beach. The feeling of warmth, Being kissed by the sun, cooled by the bubbling serine waters. I left a little of my love for her in my dance shoes. The twinkles of a rhythm in every step of tele-tones. The beauty and hardship in my grishkos. I remember how much she loves to dance. The energy in her body as she danced across a floor. Lightning, glowing plasma moving strong and sharp. Summoning pure love for her craft with every step. I remember how she could completely change for a dance, Become someone, something, so different from the girl I saw inside. I left a little of my love In the music. Allowing my fingers to play for more love, More love. Kissing each note that left my lips Telling them Find her, Reach my love for me Each note sung for her like a siren ‘Feel my love. Know it. It is the truest thing of me. It is my song.’ She always said she loved my voice. And and I would sing only for her. I left a little of my love in the poetry. In FaceTime chats, Helping her write lines for class, Her flustered tones, As she struggled writing the prose That so easily came to me in starlight. When I was in love. Every poem was about her, My love. The lines of my heartstrings Written in rhythmic prose I could have written about her forever, How her hair bounced like fizzy pop The way she walked, As if she were always onstage. I fell in love with the rhyme in her steps. I left a little of my self with her I don’t know if she can feel it. The love I left with her, A letter with a return address. She may never send it back, But it will always be there in her, In friendship. I am waiting for the first meeting To relive the first time we talked. I do not need lost love, Yet I miss friendship lost in time step, The amity in backstage jokes, And crocheted scarves. So Should she ever need love, I will always be here for her.
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59
There are moments When I think I’m over you The way you held my hand Tightly, as if to make sure I was there The way you looked at me Lovingly, as if I mattered The way you hugged me Willingly, I didn’t have to ask The way you talked to me Honestly, so I didn’t feel stupid Then in a moment Remembrance of the way you left Fled so quickly As if I didn’t matter There was no goodbye Only sorry I was not good enough Not worth trying for Then in a moment I think of you as you are now So happy So free And I smile Your happy And that’s what matters I cherish what was And I’m happy for what is The pain is something worth coping with And in a moment I am over you again
0
Feb 2, 2016
Feb 2, 2016 at 3:33 AM UTC
Moments
Sitting on the gloss ebony bench of the stand up, I think of you. The shine of the ivory keys reminds me of your smile. Brilliant pearl teeth pulled back to the most stunning smile. Almost always your head tilted slightly to the right. Placing my hands on the chilled keys, the air conditioner on even in these winter days. I think of your old house with the ever opened door, and the fan making ambient noise in the background. The way I would always joke to my friends that you were very hot, and the shocked look on their face that I used common day slang to describe looks. The laugh I would hold back as only I knew I was describing the seemingly everlasting heat in your house, and the small amount of night clothes you wore because of it. Looking through sheet music, I fish through the book for a song to play. Frustrated and unable to find any of them interesting, I play random chords. Stringing notes together I hit a single note, and suddenly a song comes to mind. Nameless, I hit D6 again, then again. Like nostalgia slowly my right hand reminisces to the next note, and the next, left hand taking after it. Slowly my hands flood the keys with memories, melodies reminding me of the way you would dance. Each movement linked to the next, as if it were a fluid conversation. Slowly my eyes begin to fill with tears and I begin to shake. Eyes filling to the brim, I swallow the pain in my throat and allow myself to finish the song. Last notes reminding me of how it had all started. The simplicity in a simple greeting, and the resonate sound of your absence. Hitting the last chord I quickly wipe the tears from my eyes, and sit at the piano, willing myself, not to give into the emotions I feel. I know better than to express that sort of emotion. It’s utterly useless to express emotional pain. It only takes away and never gives. Optimism is a gift to others. If you express your sadness it will only allow you to get used to showing it. I’ve learned it’s better to hide it. Hearing my father walking into the hallway, I place my hands on the keys and tilt my head down. Feigning contemplation, and smiling as he passes. He asks if I’m making progress, and forcing a laugh I say yes. So he moves to the door on the other end of the room and leaves for the backyard. Looking back the keys, I force a grin. Hoping I can smile the pain away. Chest tightening as I reach for the binder of musical theater songs next to the piano. Remembering when I had first bought it to hold a song I planned to learn for you. Opening it, I find the song in side pocket. “Prologue”
0
Feb 2, 2016
Feb 2, 2016 at 3:31 AM UTC
The Prolouge
Sitting on the gloss ebony bench of the stand up, I think of you. The shine of the ivory keys reminds me of your smile. Brilliant pearl teeth pulled back to the most stunning smile. Almost always your head tilted slightly to the right. Placing my hands on the chilled keys, the air conditioner on even in these winter days. I think of your old house with the ever opened door, and the fan making ambient noise in the background. The way I would always joke to my friends that you were very hot, and the shocked look on their face that I used common day slang to describe looks. The laugh I would hold back as only I knew I was describing the seemingly everlasting heat in your house, and the small amount of night clothes you wore because of it. Looking through sheet music, I fish through the book for a song to play. Frustrated and unable to find any of them interesting, I play random chords. Stringing notes together I hit a single note, and suddenly a song comes to mind. Nameless, I hit D6 again, then again. Like nostalgia slowly my right hand reminisces to the next note, and the next, left hand taking after it. Slowly my hands flood the keys with memories, melodies reminding me of the way you would dance. Each movement linked to the next, as if it were a fluid conversation. Slowly my eyes begin to fill with tears and I begin to shake. Eyes filling to the brim, I swallow the pain in my throat and allow myself to finish the song. Last notes reminding me of how it had all started. The simplicity in a simple greeting, and the resonate sound of your absence. Hitting the last chord I quickly wipe the tears from my eyes, and sit at the piano, willing myself, not to give into the emotions I feel. I know better than to express that sort of emotion. It’s utterly useless to express emotional pain. It only takes away and never gives. Optimism is a gift to others. If you express your sadness it will only allow you to get used to showing it. I’ve learned it’s better to hide it. Hearing my father walking into the hallway, I place my hands on the keys and tilt my head down. Feigning contemplation, and smiling as he passes. He asks if I’m making progress, and forcing a laugh I say yes. So he moves to the door on the other end of the room and leaves for the backyard. Looking back the keys, I force a grin. Hoping I can smile the pain away. Chest tightening as I reach for the binder of musical theater songs next to the piano. Remembering when I had first bought it to hold a song I planned to learn for you. Opening it, I find the song in side pocket. “Prologue”
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8
1 1:00am in the morning dark I take breath of vapor And a swig from a jar 2 I’m trying to escape But the glass is slippery It’s an upward incline Almost straight but curved just so Like a smirk as I tumble just bellow 3 The liquids like fire It Burns But I like it A crutch like so many before But an item Not a person So much more dependable. A item cannot leave you You must loose it Or leave it yourself 4 Looking at an almost empty bottle I cry out No tears come But ripples crack the surface as I shake I used to cry But misery scared Left tears behind. 5 Pain claws through vocal chords To strained to speak I will not cry I will not wail Speaking scares people away brings pain. The loss in broken rings. As the sun rises peaking behind Tinted mountains I smile Red ribbons tie a mask. I am optimistic I am happy I will be what is needed I will never again lose someone from sadness I Am Happy
0
Feb 2, 2016
Feb 2, 2016 at 3:29 AM UTC
Dappled Masks
I watch for the butterflies Everywhere I see them Floating in air Prophets to my eyes They fly alone Together They drift Come together Die… They show me the future And that’s how I know Where the chrysalis grows And when it will hatch Of Happiness Or Sadness Just the same for my path
0
Feb 2, 2016
Feb 2, 2016 at 3:25 AM UTC
The Prophet was a Butterfly
Cherish the little things Cherish the little things Iike good morning texts Good morning smiles And greetings from friends. Cherish the hugs lasting a little longer The smiles just for you And the gleem in the eyes of those held close. Cherish the laughter of loved ones And the sound of wind blowing The glitter in the dew And the sound of conversation. Cherish silence Music words sent in silence And love said in looks. Cherish the sound of pages And words captured in ink In pencil Dancing Singing And paint. Cherish words that will never be said again In love And words of love meant to be repeated. Cherish the second chances And moments spent in purity Moments spent living for small little things. Cherish your beliefs And hopes. Hopes for better days. Cherish those better days. Cherish smiles Cherish friends Cherish what you can, Because they are the most precious things. Cherish I Love You Cherish I Miss You Cherish Warmth and Comfort Cherish morning coffee Little touches Sunbeams Rain Clouds the sights and sounds. Cherish what you can. It can disappear in a moment.
0
Feb 2, 2016
Feb 2, 2016 at 3:24 AM UTC
Cherish the Little Things
I Love You. I still do. 
I remember the feeling of love 
like a blanket. 
Wrapped warm round my heart, 
shielding it from the 
frigid cold of anxiety, 
keeping me sane from the 
wallows of depression. Waking up to you, 
sun caressing your face. 
When your eyes fluttered open 
they shimmered gold 
the prize of kings 
yet in reach 
of my trepid hands, 
confident in the glow of your love. As my towers crumbled down, 
castles torn by the 
catapults of panic. 
Swinging strong, 
crashing into my masks, 
cracking walls of my heart, 
you could not save me. 
I never needed a hero. 
Just a healing song, 
wrapping wounds 
after war torn battlefields 
lilies growing hope in the wreckage. Yet your heartstring clung to mine, 
crimson as my blood. 
Tugged to tightly, 
struggling to hold me 
as you held yourself. 
Shadows nicking your heals, 
as they crawled up my body to reach yours. 
Some sacrifices are not worth making. 
Some people must be left to the aftermath. 
Some hearts cannot be salvaged from shadow. 
You couldn’t bare the weight of me forever. 
So you let go, 
You saved yourself. For that, 
I am thankful. 
I could never stand to see you drown 
in my ocean. 
Not when you are still attempting to tread through yours. But your lighthouse, 
still a sight for my eyes. 
I believe in the light, 
I love your light, 
I struggle to the surface of 
the pitching waves. 
Crashing on my face, 
salt sticking to red flash eyes, 
strangling my throat. 
I crawl to the top just to 
catch a glimpse of you. Wishing for the days 
where you would 
sail out on your lifeboat 
and hold me in the storm. 
Just making sure i could still swim. 
Just to see if I was okay. 
To answer your question. 
 It is still hard to breathe underwater. I swim through waves 
steadfast, as they churn 
mockingly. They can see my weakness. 
But I love you, 
that is enough. 
I will keep paddling, 
listening to my heart, 
the beat of my hands and feet. 
Slashing through the violet tides, 
I will reach shore. 
You will never have to sacrifice yourself 
again. 
I will reach the shore. 
I will reach for you.
0
Feb 2, 2016
Feb 2, 2016 at 3:22 AM UTC
Through Battlefeilds and Tides
I Love You. I still do. 
I remember the feeling of love 
like a blanket. 
Wrapped warm round my heart, 
shielding it from the 
frigid cold of anxiety, 
keeping me sane from the 
wallows of depression. Waking up to you, 
sun caressing your face. 
When your eyes fluttered open 
they shimmered gold 
the prize of kings 
yet in reach 
of my trepid hands, 
confident in the glow of your love. As my towers crumbled down, 
castles torn by the 
catapults of panic. 
Swinging strong, 
crashing into my masks, 
cracking walls of my heart, 
you could not save me. 
I never needed a hero. 
Just a healing song, 
wrapping wounds 
after war torn battlefields 
lilies growing hope in the wreckage. Yet your heartstring clung to mine, 
crimson as my blood. 
Tugged to tightly, 
struggling to hold me 
as you held yourself. 
Shadows nicking your heals, 
as they crawled up my body to reach yours. 
Some sacrifices are not worth making. 
Some people must be left to the aftermath. 
Some hearts cannot be salvaged from shadow. 
You couldn’t bare the weight of me forever. 
So you let go, 
You saved yourself. For that, 
I am thankful. 
I could never stand to see you drown 
in my ocean. 
Not when you are still attempting to tread through yours. But your lighthouse, 
still a sight for my eyes. 
I believe in the light, 
I love your light, 
I struggle to the surface of 
the pitching waves. 
Crashing on my face, 
salt sticking to red flash eyes, 
strangling my throat. 
I crawl to the top just to 
catch a glimpse of you. Wishing for the days 
where you would 
sail out on your lifeboat 
and hold me in the storm. 
Just making sure i could still swim. 
Just to see if I was okay. 
To answer your question. 
 It is still hard to breathe underwater. I swim through waves 
steadfast, as they churn 
mockingly. They can see my weakness. 
But I love you, 
that is enough. 
I will keep paddling, 
listening to my heart, 
the beat of my hands and feet. 
Slashing through the violet tides, 
I will reach shore. 
You will never have to sacrifice yourself 
again. 
I will reach the shore. 
I will reach for you.
Continue reading...
81
You are the moon People stare at you Gaze at the light you can give to the darkest night But the moon hides secrets in the darkness As asteroid feelings collide Creating scars fresh on the surface Craters, hiding a glowing soul The moon shines bright in shadows But in the daylight She is gone No one sees her No one stays up all night to watch her Yet when the sun stands in front they do Her fame is in their shadows She is nothing without the stars And sun She is gray She is nothing She is what others want her to be Yet so sad in lonesome That she will change face during months And finally You can see through her mask.
0
Feb 2, 2016
Feb 2, 2016 at 3:18 AM UTC
The Moon