heather-mc-corkle - Hello Poetry

One smile from her and the world fell in love. Her beauty was breathtaking, but it wasn't traditional. she was beautiful because she was wholly herself. No masks. No pretenses. She was rare. Effortless. She was FREE!! Boldly claiming to the world, "This is me. Here I am!" And the world? They were afraid. But that didn't matter. They couldn't tear her down. She was untouchable!

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heather-mc-corkle

Jan 9, 2019

Jan 9, 2019 at 12:58 PM UTC

Arielle_

Free

One smile from her and the world fell in love. Her beauty was breathtaking, but it wasn't traditional. she was beautiful because she was wholly herself. No masks. No pretenses. She was rare. Effortless. She was FREE!! Boldly claiming to the world, "This is me. Here I am!" And the world? They were afraid. But that didn't matter. They couldn't tear her down. She was untouchable!

18

And just as the season changes; so does she. As the sun goes down mid day, so do her thoughts. Her emotions are raw and brisk, just as the wind in the night. She applies layers to herself, as if she were going into a blizzard. But this isn’t a bundling up that you can see. She builds thick walls to protect herself from more than the cold. Darkness seeps in and covers her. She is consumed by her despair and she remains frozen. -ED

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heather-mc-corkle

Dec 4, 2018

Dec 4, 2018 at 4:25 PM UTC

LostGirliey

Into Winter

And just as the season changes; so does she. As the sun goes down mid day, so do her thoughts. Her emotions are raw and brisk, just as the wind in the night. She applies layers to herself, as if she were going into a blizzard. But this isn’t a bundling up that you can see. She builds thick walls to protect herself from more than the cold. Darkness seeps in and covers her. She is consumed by her despair and she remains frozen. -ED

9

You forgot about me Again Like you forget so many things Your youthful dreams The cold coffee still found in your cup The golden sunlight When it's cold outside The lipstick residue on your chapped lips The strangers who smile at you each day The people you could get to know if you only forgot about yourself But that's one thing you'll always remember

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Dec 3, 2018

Dec 3, 2018 at 5:32 PM UTC

heather-mc-corkle

Leftover Coffee

You forgot about me Again Like you forget so many things Your youthful dreams The cold coffee still found in your cup The golden sunlight When it's cold outside The lipstick residue on your chapped lips The strangers who smile at you each day The people you could get to know if you only forgot about yourself But that's one thing you'll always remember

11

Your hands look soft, like the formation of a memory Slowly molding it Wet clay that will crystallize to look fondly upon "And with remorse," she atoned "With bitterness" "Yes," I reckoned But your eyes could never manufacture such a memory "How do you know?" She looked at her hands, small on her lap "Because they are beautiful." She smiled She was already knitting a keepsake memory

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Nov 4, 2018

Nov 4, 2018 at 3:22 PM UTC

heather-mc-corkle

Hands

Your hands look soft, like the formation of a memory Slowly molding it Wet clay that will crystallize to look fondly upon "And with remorse," she atoned "With bitterness" "Yes," I reckoned But your eyes could never manufacture such a memory "How do you know?" She looked at her hands, small on her lap "Because they are beautiful." She smiled She was already knitting a keepsake memory

11

When all around you is falling down When the grass and trees and cricket sounds Are no more there alive than dead When your world is crashing inside out To sky be bound Look up instead When the rolling clouds are sounding out And the river ink is pouring down And the flood is in your basement found Stand proudly upon on your here and now Don't sink your brow Look up instead When the voices jeer you all about And the rumors populate the town When commotive chaos finds your head Don't let the horizon slip you now Though falsehood fed Look up instead And when the never becomes the now And the time like nightfall pulls you down When the sunshine strays its fading stead May the storms internal you allay In peace be found Look up instead

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heather-mc-corkle

Oct 4, 2018

Oct 4, 2018 at 3:19 PM UTC

colmistoirm

Look Up And See

When all around you is falling down When the grass and trees and cricket sounds Are no more there alive than dead When your world is crashing inside out To sky be bound Look up instead When the rolling clouds are sounding out And the river ink is pouring down And the flood is in your basement found Stand proudly upon on your here and now Don't sink your brow Look up instead When the voices jeer you all about And the rumors populate the town When commotive chaos finds your head Don't let the horizon slip you now Though falsehood fed Look up instead And when the never becomes the now And the time like nightfall pulls you down When the sunshine strays its fading stead May the storms internal you allay In peace be found Look up instead

24

They ask me a question every day, They ask me 'Oh darling! How much do you weigh?' And I answer this question every day, I wish to tell them, 'I am not made up of flesh and bones, I do not weigh on scales and stones. I weigh the love letters never sent, I weigh my heart I gave on rent, I weigh all my insecurities, I weigh Ganga's purities. I weigh the prayers of my mother. I weigh the hard work of my father. I weigh the thirty-two-inch smile I carry and flaunt every day, I weigh the fears which haunt me every day, I weigh all the love I have for him, And I am certain that weighs more than the stories I dream, I weigh the fairytales I've read, And I weigh the kindness I've fed. I weigh my hope, And I weigh my dreams. I weigh my faith, And I weigh my screams. So I weigh the lightest I could ever be, And the heaviest you could ever imagine being.' But then in the end, I murmur the words '47 kilograms', A lean and skinny girl is what I am.

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heather-mc-corkle

Oct 4, 2018

Oct 4, 2018 at 12:10 PM UTC

Kirangoswami

My Weight

They ask me a question every day, They ask me 'Oh darling! How much do you weigh?' And I answer this question every day, I wish to tell them, 'I am not made up of flesh and bones, I do not weigh on scales and stones. I weigh the love letters never sent, I weigh my heart I gave on rent, I weigh all my insecurities, I weigh Ganga's purities. I weigh the prayers of my mother. I weigh the hard work of my father. I weigh the thirty-two-inch smile I carry and flaunt every day, I weigh the fears which haunt me every day, I weigh all the love I have for him, And I am certain that weighs more than the stories I dream, I weigh the fairytales I've read, And I weigh the kindness I've fed. I weigh my hope, And I weigh my dreams. I weigh my faith, And I weigh my screams. So I weigh the lightest I could ever be, And the heaviest you could ever imagine being.' But then in the end, I murmur the words '47 kilograms', A lean and skinny girl is what I am.

27

She walks on the bus Finds a seat Somewhere in the middle She's not popular or bold enough to sit in the back She talks some But she doesn't necessarily want to be seen She's about as average as they come It's 6 am Dark outside Cold, wet Despite this, she drifts her face to the window To the shapes and shadows Her thoughts take her Where they only take her on chilly mornings when the stars are bright Deep, philosophical thoughts She knows the origin of the earth She understands the Pythagorean theorem and why a right angle is 90 degrees Things begin to connect and align like the stars Only to be unraveled again when the sun comes out Among these thoughts She wonders about herself She wants to make a difference Even though she's a tiny speck in this vast universe She runs through her accomplishments The time she gave a speech in front of her 8th-grade class at graduation That A+ on her math final Those poems she wrote to her relatives on Christmas That one song she sang that made her mother cry "It's not enough," she thinks. "What have I done that will make any difference in the world?" The stars begin to disappear The sun floats The sky turns colour And the world has form and light She walks to school Feeling burdened and useless I wish she would've stayed a little bit longer In that middle bus seat Looked at that one microscopic star, so small, yet still part of the system called the universe If she had stayed I would've told her "Maybe you won't" Maybe she won't change the world Maybe she won't find the cure for cancer Maybe she won't stop World Hunger Maybe she won't grow up smart and successful Her name in every newspaper Maybe she won't become president Maybe she won't be on TV Maybe she won't climb a mountain Maybe she won't write a book that changes the world Maybe she won't build a castle Maybe she won't found a city Maybe she won't start a dynasty Maybe she won't But she is still important She still matters She still has a purpose She is enough She has a reason to exist She is perfect the way she is

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Oct 1, 2018

Oct 1, 2018 at 8:10 PM UTC

heather-mc-corkle

Maybe She Won't

She walks on the bus Finds a seat Somewhere in the middle She's not popular or bold enough to sit in the back She talks some But she doesn't necessarily want to be seen She's about as average as they come It's 6 am Dark outside Cold, wet Despite this, she drifts her face to the window To the shapes and shadows Her thoughts take her Where they only take her on chilly mornings when the stars are bright Deep, philosophical thoughts She knows the origin of the earth She understands the Pythagorean theorem and why a right angle is 90 degrees Things begin to connect and align like the stars Only to be unraveled again when the sun comes out Among these thoughts She wonders about herself She wants to make a difference Even though she's a tiny speck in this vast universe She runs through her accomplishments The time she gave a speech in front of her 8th-grade class at graduation That A+ on her math final Those poems she wrote to her relatives on Christmas That one song she sang that made her mother cry "It's not enough," she thinks. "What have I done that will make any difference in the world?" The stars begin to disappear The sun floats The sky turns colour And the world has form and light She walks to school Feeling burdened and useless I wish she would've stayed a little bit longer In that middle bus seat Looked at that one microscopic star, so small, yet still part of the system called the universe If she had stayed I would've told her "Maybe you won't" Maybe she won't change the world Maybe she won't find the cure for cancer Maybe she won't stop World Hunger Maybe she won't grow up smart and successful Her name in every newspaper Maybe she won't become president Maybe she won't be on TV Maybe she won't climb a mountain Maybe she won't write a book that changes the world Maybe she won't build a castle Maybe she won't found a city Maybe she won't start a dynasty Maybe she won't But she is still important She still matters She still has a purpose She is enough She has a reason to exist She is perfect the way she is

61

You are officially someone I write sad, pathetic poetry about You have become ink blots Pencil shavings Illegible lyrics You should feel honoured Pat yourself on the back I'm getting the feeling I could write a book about you I'd probably burn it afterward But it's the thought that counts At least I know you'll never read this You don't like to read A warning - red light - from the start Are you even worth a poem? On second thought, everyone is worth a poem That's the good thing about prose Everyone -large, or small - is entitled to words Yours just might not be so pretty

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Sep 27, 2018

Sep 27, 2018 at 6:10 PM UTC

heather-mc-corkle

Congratulations

You are officially someone I write sad, pathetic poetry about You have become ink blots Pencil shavings Illegible lyrics You should feel honoured Pat yourself on the back I'm getting the feeling I could write a book about you I'd probably burn it afterward But it's the thought that counts At least I know you'll never read this You don't like to read A warning - red light - from the start Are you even worth a poem? On second thought, everyone is worth a poem That's the good thing about prose Everyone -large, or small - is entitled to words Yours just might not be so pretty

17

I thought that maybe, just maybe You'd be the one to see me through my shyness It was all wishful thinking You're just like everyone else, expecting me to change To "come out of my shell" Can't you see I already have? I'm cracked beyond belief by all these people trying to alter me Why am I not good enough for you?

0

Sep 19, 2018

Sep 19, 2018 at 6:34 PM UTC

heather-mc-corkle

Cracked

I thought that maybe, just maybe You'd be the one to see me through my shyness It was all wishful thinking You're just like everyone else, expecting me to change To "come out of my shell" Can't you see I already have? I'm cracked beyond belief by all these people trying to alter me Why am I not good enough for you?

11