laura-lee-burkhardt - Hello Poetry

There is a diner down the street Where we sit to talk and think. Our own Thanksgiving: In the middle of June In the middle of the night, In some god-awful town We couldn't wait to get out of. Do you remember? The waitress asked if we wanted coffee. You were so out of your body You wept. I apologized only for embarrassment. Don't ruin this for me. You looked good. Your once sunken, steaming eyes are bright. Not bright enough to be a picture, but pretty **** close. Reach your hand across the stained table, to touch mine grasping a pink package, of kind-of-sweet sugar. The clock watched my eyes look for ghosts to talk about. You don't have to be sorry for the night you went too far. I know that is hard. I'm writing you a letter now. I'll smudge the return address. I hope you are thankful for someone like me.

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Sep 27, 2010

Sep 27, 2010 at 6:31 PM UTC

Thanksgiving.

There is a diner down the street Where we sit to talk and think. Our own Thanksgiving: In the middle of June In the middle of the night, In some god-awful town We couldn't wait to get out of. Do you remember? The waitress asked if we wanted coffee. You were so out of your body You wept. I apologized only for embarrassment. Don't ruin this for me. You looked good. Your once sunken, steaming eyes are bright. Not bright enough to be a picture, but pretty **** close. Reach your hand across the stained table, to touch mine grasping a pink package, of kind-of-sweet sugar. The clock watched my eyes look for ghosts to talk about. You don't have to be sorry for the night you went too far. I know that is hard. I'm writing you a letter now. I'll smudge the return address. I hope you are thankful for someone like me.

28

I've still got blue on my face. I'm coming clean, and I hope you will go away. I'm still drowning. I have come to learn these things are better left said.

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Sep 14, 2010

Sep 14, 2010 at 6:20 PM UTC

Untitled

I've still got blue on my face. I'm coming clean, and I hope you will go away. I'm still drowning. I have come to learn these things are better left said.

4

I cried when you cried and kissed when you kissed. Now if I died, I'm unsure I'd be missed. Remember me? I told you it was OK when it really was not OK when you touched me inappropriately on my own couch that one night after we saw the film about a graffiti artist. It was not OK, I'm still not OK. Remember me? I said it was no big deal when it really was, obviously, a big deal that you started liking her instead of me. It was a big deal, when I asked you to kiss me in the halls. Remember me? I'm not your little girl anymore. I am seventeen years old, and I can't breathe most nights. Things are not OK. Things are a big deal. So much so, that it is OK. It's fine, really. No big Deal.

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Aug 30, 2010

Aug 30, 2010 at 7:22 PM UTC

Remember Me?

I cried when you cried and kissed when you kissed. Now if I died, I'm unsure I'd be missed. Remember me? I told you it was OK when it really was not OK when you touched me inappropriately on my own couch that one night after we saw the film about a graffiti artist. It was not OK, I'm still not OK. Remember me? I said it was no big deal when it really was, obviously, a big deal that you started liking her instead of me. It was a big deal, when I asked you to kiss me in the halls. Remember me? I'm not your little girl anymore. I am seventeen years old, and I can't breathe most nights. Things are not OK. Things are a big deal. So much so, that it is OK. It's fine, really. No big Deal.

36

I'm running out of things to say to the lady I pay by the day to tell me how my life has gone to **** to tell me, however, I should not quit. I'm running out of ways to write that I cannot stand the sight of my eyes looking back into mine the knots in the mirror when I stare at my spine. I'm running out of ways to feel the urge and need to **** so I figured I ought to love instead but all that disappoint got to my head. I'm running out of trust to give such a fact prevents my want to live I wish more than anything to feel at home again.

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Aug 19, 2010

Aug 19, 2010 at 7:50 PM UTC

My Legs Hurt

I'm running out of things to say to the lady I pay by the day to tell me how my life has gone to **** to tell me, however, I should not quit. I'm running out of ways to write that I cannot stand the sight of my eyes looking back into mine the knots in the mirror when I stare at my spine. I'm running out of ways to feel the urge and need to **** so I figured I ought to love instead but all that disappoint got to my head. I'm running out of trust to give such a fact prevents my want to live I wish more than anything to feel at home again.

16

I don't remember much: There was a great crash and a sense of falling. There was a sinking feeling and an instinct to leave at once. Then there came a thought, that I had been here before. How many times, Walking on broken glass It seems no matter how soft my steps or care to position I still come up with ****** feet. I don't want to be that girl: who sits and assures It's all right! I don't feel a thing! The truth is, I feel everything (only)in dark hues of blue and green. I'm not quite sure: whose fault it is. You've given me thoughts like cuts to the bottom of my feet You've given me broken glass for my thoughts You've given me a love for the color of a rose best when seen out of my veins. You've given me everything I've wanted And you want it back. Tell me whose fault is that?

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Aug 19, 2010

Aug 19, 2010 at 7:41 PM UTC

A Story Told Halfway True.

I don't remember much: There was a great crash and a sense of falling. There was a sinking feeling and an instinct to leave at once. Then there came a thought, that I had been here before. How many times, Walking on broken glass It seems no matter how soft my steps or care to position I still come up with ****** feet. I don't want to be that girl: who sits and assures It's all right! I don't feel a thing! The truth is, I feel everything (only)in dark hues of blue and green. I'm not quite sure: whose fault it is. You've given me thoughts like cuts to the bottom of my feet You've given me broken glass for my thoughts You've given me a love for the color of a rose best when seen out of my veins. You've given me everything I've wanted And you want it back. Tell me whose fault is that?

33

Open palms in passenger seats Waiting for warmth, the familiarity of the cracks-- calluses--that map routes In your palms. We go for Sunday drives, Get lost in Daisyville. It's romantic to say, so you and I never could do. Open palms in passenger seats Waiting for relief. Open palms in passenger seats: close to fists When Neon Signs are Lit, (When my mind goes to **** Open palms on steering wheels, Open eyes to Open Skies: Still hopelessly lost in the dark.

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Aug 11, 2010

Aug 11, 2010 at 12:51 AM UTC

Open Palms in Passenger Seats

Open palms in passenger seats Waiting for warmth, the familiarity of the cracks-- calluses--that map routes In your palms. We go for Sunday drives, Get lost in Daisyville. It's romantic to say, so you and I never could do. Open palms in passenger seats Waiting for relief. Open palms in passenger seats: close to fists When Neon Signs are Lit, (When my mind goes to **** Open palms on steering wheels, Open eyes to Open Skies: Still hopelessly lost in the dark.

18

Sitting in a circle-- though I do not take part. A picture of youth, a caption of distance. A constant reminder: things get passed around. Like circles. Never starting, or ending. On and on.

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Aug 2, 2010

Aug 2, 2010 at 9:54 AM UTC

Circles

Sitting in a circle-- though I do not take part. A picture of youth, a caption of distance. A constant reminder: things get passed around. Like circles. Never starting, or ending. On and on.

10