ira-dawson - Hello Poetry

Can you hear me? The monster waited outside of my bedroom door. My body pressed against the floor. Looking, waiting for someone to save me. The silence slices through the air. Mommy didn’t try to scare him away this time. I felt my heart beat in my ears and felt his nails caress my hair. What makes you happy? Why is this happening? My screams trapped inside my pillow? My eyes red from tears? Are you thriving from my fear? All the King’s horsemen are dead. The next day, I made my bed like terror never lived. Tucked in my blankets and fluffed my pillows erasing the memories of last night’s shadows.

0

May 6, 2014

May 6, 2014 at 3:00 PM UTC

Fear

Can you hear me? The monster waited outside of my bedroom door. My body pressed against the floor. Looking, waiting for someone to save me. The silence slices through the air. Mommy didn’t try to scare him away this time. I felt my heart beat in my ears and felt his nails caress my hair. What makes you happy? Why is this happening? My screams trapped inside my pillow? My eyes red from tears? Are you thriving from my fear? All the King’s horsemen are dead. The next day, I made my bed like terror never lived. Tucked in my blankets and fluffed my pillows erasing the memories of last night’s shadows.

16

I’m writing this poem because the cutting glares, the jagged judgment from strangers on the street still chinks my armor— Exposing my blackened limbs, splattered with the remnants of lies once lived. I’m writing this poem because I’m still scared to hold my boyfriend’s hand in public because people, hateful people, display their disgust, their disapproval, their disappointment promptly on their brow. As if my life, my ****** orientation somehow affects them, infects them, injects my deadly sin in them. I’m writing this poem because, yes, this is my boyfriend. And no, we don’t want to f*** you. And yes, we’re second class citizens. And no, we didn’t cause 9/11. And yes, we are exclusive. And no, God doesn’t hate us. And yes, we want a family. And know God doesn’t hate us.

0

May 5, 2014

May 5, 2014 at 4:21 PM UTC

I'm Writing This Poem

I’m writing this poem because the cutting glares, the jagged judgment from strangers on the street still chinks my armor— Exposing my blackened limbs, splattered with the remnants of lies once lived. I’m writing this poem because I’m still scared to hold my boyfriend’s hand in public because people, hateful people, display their disgust, their disapproval, their disappointment promptly on their brow. As if my life, my ****** orientation somehow affects them, infects them, injects my deadly sin in them. I’m writing this poem because, yes, this is my boyfriend. And no, we don’t want to f*** you. And yes, we’re second class citizens. And no, we didn’t cause 9/11. And yes, we are exclusive. And no, God doesn’t hate us. And yes, we want a family. And know God doesn’t hate us.

33

Is it okay if I kiss you when I stagger through the bedroom door? Is it pathetic that I miss you in those black jeans and red shirt? What if the board of burden broke? Would you let me understand the way the light falls, encircling your face? Can I put my hand here? Can I feel you again? Would you let me sit beside you, my hands dancing on your skin? Do you turn your head and wonder what the white-washed words all meant? Do you hear the tracks of tears, making trenches down my chin? Do you hear it? Can you feel them? Do you care you caused this feeling? Can you hear me when I whisper? Can you just listen? Does it matter?

0

May 4, 2014

May 4, 2014 at 6:15 PM UTC

Question...

Is it okay if I kiss you when I stagger through the bedroom door? Is it pathetic that I miss you in those black jeans and red shirt? What if the board of burden broke? Would you let me understand the way the light falls, encircling your face? Can I put my hand here? Can I feel you again? Would you let me sit beside you, my hands dancing on your skin? Do you turn your head and wonder what the white-washed words all meant? Do you hear the tracks of tears, making trenches down my chin? Do you hear it? Can you feel them? Do you care you caused this feeling? Can you hear me when I whisper? Can you just listen? Does it matter?

15

HELPHELP HELPHELP HELPHELP HELPHELP HELPHELP HELPHELP HELPHELPHELPHELPHELPHELP HELPHELPHELPHELPHELPHELP HELPHELP HELPHELP HELPHELP HELPHELP HELPHELP HELPHELP HELPHELPHELPHELPHELPHELP HELPHELPHELPHELPHELPHELP HELPHELP HELPHELP HELPHELPHELPHELPHELPHELP HELPHELPHELPHELPHELPHELP HELPHELP HELPHELP HELPHELPHELPHELPHELPHELP HELPHELPHELPHELPHELPHELP HELPHELP HELPHELP HELPHELP HELPHELP HELPHELP HELPHELP HELPHELP HELPHELPHELPHELPHELPHELP HELPHELPHELPHELPHELPHELP HELPHELPHELPHELPHELPHELP HELPHELPHELPHELPHELPHELP HELPHELP HELPHELP HELPHELP HELPHELP HELPHELPHELPHELPHELPHELP HELPHELPHELPHELPHELPHELP HELPHELP HELPHELP HELPHELP HELPhelp

0

May 4, 2014

May 4, 2014 at 6:04 PM UTC

Help

37

A flash of gold blisters my skin, causing me to retreat to the shade of the weeping willow. Bead after bead of salt forms a darkened necklace on my grey collar, my noose of summer. The once green, now yellow, slowly dying scenery reinforces my instinct to flee inside these wooden boxes. My shoulders are kissed with buckets of rays— they pour down from above the heads of the trees. I submerge my wings up to the first hinge, the chill of the pond barely softens the burn. I grimace as the light reflects, obscuring my vision. There’s someone out there who knows how to change things. As I shake my feathers dry and prepare to flee back home, I glance to the side, seeing my distorted reflection in the ripples. Mother Nature is finally happy with the way we are reacting.

0

May 4, 2014

May 4, 2014 at 1:47 PM UTC

Summer

A flash of gold blisters my skin, causing me to retreat to the shade of the weeping willow. Bead after bead of salt forms a darkened necklace on my grey collar, my noose of summer. The once green, now yellow, slowly dying scenery reinforces my instinct to flee inside these wooden boxes. My shoulders are kissed with buckets of rays— they pour down from above the heads of the trees. I submerge my wings up to the first hinge, the chill of the pond barely softens the burn. I grimace as the light reflects, obscuring my vision. There’s someone out there who knows how to change things. As I shake my feathers dry and prepare to flee back home, I glance to the side, seeing my distorted reflection in the ripples. Mother Nature is finally happy with the way we are reacting.

30

I said it first. I broke the silence. Shattered the earth, Echoed the sirens. I screamed it in the black Garden of wilted flowers. I saw the flowers And broke them first, Painted them black. Echoed the silence Of imaginary sirens, In the garden of the earth. I felt the earth, and smelled the flowers until I shattered with the sirens. I echoed the first Wave of silence by the garden dressed in black. I knew the black devouring the earth would bring forth silence. I watered the flowers And mowed the lawn first, By the garden through the sirens. I heard the sirens Break through the black. I was happy at first, To fear to earth. Now I hear the flowers in the garden disrupt the silence. I felt a wave of silence before I heard the sirens. I looked to the flowers For an explanation to the black, Until I felt the earth, Unravel in the garden first. First silence, Earth’s sirens, Black flowers.

0

May 4, 2014

May 4, 2014 at 1:40 PM UTC

Sestina

I said it first. I broke the silence. Shattered the earth, Echoed the sirens. I screamed it in the black Garden of wilted flowers. I saw the flowers And broke them first, Painted them black. Echoed the silence Of imaginary sirens, In the garden of the earth. I felt the earth, and smelled the flowers until I shattered with the sirens. I echoed the first Wave of silence by the garden dressed in black. I knew the black devouring the earth would bring forth silence. I watered the flowers And mowed the lawn first, By the garden through the sirens. I heard the sirens Break through the black. I was happy at first, To fear to earth. Now I hear the flowers in the garden disrupt the silence. I felt a wave of silence before I heard the sirens. I looked to the flowers For an explanation to the black, Until I felt the earth, Unravel in the garden first. First silence, Earth’s sirens, Black flowers.

39

You’re the bee’s knees between my knees. Sweet as nectar, **** like blood. A wolf in sheep’s clothing Shopping for sheep, Shopping for mercy, Shopping for me. To the naked eye You’re just fine But to the naked touch Your skins too rough. Your eyes too beady. You’ve lost your touch. The lone wolf in sheep’s clothing, Doing his bidding.

0

May 4, 2014

May 4, 2014 at 1:32 PM UTC

Bee's Knees

You’re the bee’s knees between my knees. Sweet as nectar, **** like blood. A wolf in sheep’s clothing Shopping for sheep, Shopping for mercy, Shopping for me. To the naked eye You’re just fine But to the naked touch Your skins too rough. Your eyes too beady. You’ve lost your touch. The lone wolf in sheep’s clothing, Doing his bidding.

15