etta-james-1
Etta James is a beginning poet, who hates the taste of rootbeer but loves the smell. She writes poetry, but she also plays two musical instruments- the piano and clarinet. She sings too, but between us, she should stick with piano and clarinet if she knows what's good for her. / / Etta greatly appreciates all criticism and feedback on her poetry. / / / / Also: Etta does not usually talk in third person.
you toil
and tear
and hurt people
in who-know's-where
you seem so surprised
when complications arise
you create so many problems
a tangled mess
and who wants to play hero?
let me guess
Oct 8, 2010
Oct 8, 2010 at 6:30 PM UTC
Trying
to reach you
foamy waves draw us apart
and you aren't here right now
but you are still in my heart
Can't say the words
you want to hear
because i've been there before
Babe, i'll stand by you
even when it starts to pour
Yes it will be hard
But babe be brave
For me, baby, try
to not be swallowed up in the wave
Oct 8, 2010
Oct 8, 2010 at 6:26 PM UTC
it seems so innocent at first
the first stitch is slowly- ever so slowly- tearing
you tell yourself it’s just a little unstitching
It’s fine
but then the sensation continues,
down your vertebrae, exposing tender flesh
you recognize it
but you hold back
because it’s too embarrassing to speak of
thinking it will ruin your friendship
but you don’t realize
your friendship is already being ruined
by the time you can do anything about it
It’s gone
fabric is torn beyond recognition
never to be sewn the exact same way as before
and sure, there will be others
but the worst part is knowing that that person doesn’t have a ripped seam running down their heart.
Oct 8, 2010
Oct 8, 2010 at 6:18 PM UTC
by all means
go forth and
proclaim to the streets
in a high voice
what an asset you are
to the world
show them how to do things your way
er, the right way
remind us of all the good deeds
you have accomplished
for we are certainly liable
to forget
and lastly
conclude by giving us list of
all the virtues that you posses
and i will add
that modesty is not one of them
May 13, 2010
May 13, 2010 at 1:52 PM UTC
*...he loves me....
...he loves me not....
...he loves me....
...he loves me not...*
sitting in a flower patch
wondering about you
and every fallen petal
every turn of daisy
is as different as the seasons
winter encased everything in white
the whiteness blinds emotion
it frosts the heart
and spring came all too late
the sun melted away the ice
and left me in a flood of emotions
i had carefully frozen
i was blind in the brightness
of that soft frozen world
but spring has come
and i can see
i ponder in the flower patch
*...he loves me....
...he loves me not....*
Apr 30, 2010
Apr 30, 2010 at 2:25 PM UTC
some people will take emotion
and shove it into the pockets of their jeans
for ‘safe keeping’
to stay until most convenient
i am not one of those people
if i ever catch a good emotion whizzing by
-which i do fairly often-
i’ll grab hold of it and let it
carry me away
to some distant land
i’ve never been
and probably will never see again
so when i caught you in the air
it was thrilling
just imagine
all the places you took me
in only a few moments and
even if it didn’t last long
i will always remember the journey,
and adventure,
excitement,
you gave me
and there isn't a big enough pocket in the world
that can contain that
Apr 16, 2010
Apr 16, 2010 at 4:41 PM UTC
Love
is self-inflicted pain
those with broken hearts
must be insane
Gambling
every delicate possession
Dignity, Pride, a fragile Heart
tied in one love confession
It’s a gamble
I’m not willing to take
No, not when
My heart’s at stake
No, not me
I won’t get my hopes flushed
Because love is suicide
and I don’t want my heart crushed
Feb 15, 2010
Feb 15, 2010 at 3:53 PM UTC
I felt the fury rippling inside
Trying to contain it was like holding back the tide
To unleash the wrath, the fury, the power,
to see my enemies beg on their knees and cower
I wanted it more than anything
No, right now I wanted it more than everything
I was tired of bottling it up
Tired of acting and playing the grown-up
I was through with being “mature”
Being myself I would much rather prefer
Than putting on a show
And trying to be someone I don’t know
If I added just one more thing to my load
I was sure I was going to explode
Nothing could stop me- I was going to blow
And I didn’t care what the destruction would look like tomorrow
Feb 15, 2010
Feb 15, 2010 at 3:52 PM UTC
See the boys flock around her
the winning smile, the sunlit hair
Shouldn't I be envious
Treated like a goddess
true beauty from above
Aren't I envious
Dreamy face
perfect body
I should be envious
And I'm not
For I'd rather live my entire life as a distant illuminating flicker
than to glow like a thousand stars for a moment
and burn out the wick
Feb 15, 2010
Feb 15, 2010 at 3:52 PM UTC
It’s like peeling back the curtains
It’s like dusting off an old trophy
It’s like opening a sealed trunk
You’re pulling at the very fabric of my existence
And I like being discovered
Especially by you
And then I wonder if it is meant to be
If you’ll like me when that’s all there is
The curtains drawn
No mystery
No suspense
Just
Plain
Unchanging
Old
All my secrets told
Nothing else to see
Plain Old Me
And I can’t allow that
So I shut up
Like slamming close a book
Like a rubber band snapping in place
To back before
When you didn’t know me
When you didn’t care to know me
When I couldn’t get hurt
Safe in dull ignorance
A door- less enclosed space
And windows to taunt
Force me to see what could have been
Trapped in my own security
Willingly enchained
And yet longing for what I gave up
Trapped in an internal circle
of misery
Is that what love is?
A choice between two awful extremes
Forced to pick my poison
And somehow through all the heartbreaks and heartaches
I choose love every time
Feb 15, 2010
Feb 15, 2010 at 3:51 PM UTC