mary-ann-osgood - Hello Poetry

I’m not sure what I’m doing. I’m learning how to be an adult make decisions be responsible how to trust myself how to know myself (there are so many questions I’ve never asked myself) those who open their hearts to me, and with whom I am also free, hold a special part of my soul. what opens my heart? feeling grounded, receptive, and important. I love feeling as if I’ll suddenly float away because I love being gently pulled back down to earth. sharing my heartbeat and other intimate parts of myself breath it means I’m floating again into a small corner of the sky where I get trapped in utter bliss with slow, deep inhales exhales and the sweetest of tears. breathing that same breath again and again because it is always right at the center of Me. how do I share any of this with another person? I suppose I’m trying to share myself now. Because this isn’t beautiful, it’s just honest a series of answered questions that I’ve been meaning to ask.

0

Dec 11, 2019

Dec 11, 2019 at 4:25 PM UTC

you are what you breathe

I’m not sure what I’m doing. I’m learning how to be an adult make decisions be responsible how to trust myself how to know myself (there are so many questions I’ve never asked myself) those who open their hearts to me, and with whom I am also free, hold a special part of my soul. what opens my heart? feeling grounded, receptive, and important. I love feeling as if I’ll suddenly float away because I love being gently pulled back down to earth. sharing my heartbeat and other intimate parts of myself breath it means I’m floating again into a small corner of the sky where I get trapped in utter bliss with slow, deep inhales exhales and the sweetest of tears. breathing that same breath again and again because it is always right at the center of Me. how do I share any of this with another person? I suppose I’m trying to share myself now. Because this isn’t beautiful, it’s just honest a series of answered questions that I’ve been meaning to ask.

29

when I was 16 I thought love was a dark corner I thought she was someone else, and her words dripped down the walls until they were all I heard, all I breathed in through my nostrils lips pursed trying to keep my secrets from pouring out. but I let them (too soon) and I limped about the house for days like I was embarrassed to have stubbed my toe she said it had gone on too far (of course it ******* had) but when you believe your darkness is alive in someone else’s words you feel almost nauseated the taste of bile stuck to your tongue the morning after being sick why did we like it? she came to see me sing and 12 others sat in silence, thinking but not knowing the thickness of the air are they breathing it as deeply as we are? can they taste what was said between us? I used her words she said they belonged to someone else I wish they had.

0

Jan 17, 2019

Jan 17, 2019 at 6:46 PM UTC

LT

when I was 16 I thought love was a dark corner I thought she was someone else, and her words dripped down the walls until they were all I heard, all I breathed in through my nostrils lips pursed trying to keep my secrets from pouring out. but I let them (too soon) and I limped about the house for days like I was embarrassed to have stubbed my toe she said it had gone on too far (of course it ******* had) but when you believe your darkness is alive in someone else’s words you feel almost nauseated the taste of bile stuck to your tongue the morning after being sick why did we like it? she came to see me sing and 12 others sat in silence, thinking but not knowing the thickness of the air are they breathing it as deeply as we are? can they taste what was said between us? I used her words she said they belonged to someone else I wish they had.

23

of what? of small meaningful noises given like Christmas gifts that you can't open in front of your parents creation of murmuring hearts skipping odd beats, of reasons to speak the words you hold gently between your fingertips like the last dripping slice of a clementine (don't let the juice get on the floor) (don't make a mess) sometimes I'm sick of my own imagination, lately it fails me. no fanciful futures, only feet stuck in the mud and I'm too lazy to just untie my shoes and walk away the riff is deepening darkening (that's not bad - it's expansive) I'll just keep expanding until I explode and then I'll start again and again until someday i just stop.

0

Apr 5, 2018

Apr 5, 2018 at 9:18 AM UTC

creation

of what? of small meaningful noises given like Christmas gifts that you can't open in front of your parents creation of murmuring hearts skipping odd beats, of reasons to speak the words you hold gently between your fingertips like the last dripping slice of a clementine (don't let the juice get on the floor) (don't make a mess) sometimes I'm sick of my own imagination, lately it fails me. no fanciful futures, only feet stuck in the mud and I'm too lazy to just untie my shoes and walk away the riff is deepening darkening (that's not bad - it's expansive) I'll just keep expanding until I explode and then I'll start again and again until someday i just stop.

21

whatever space you occupy, be smaller the world is shrinking the only thing expanding is the universe. Sometimes people surprise me they leave they become stuck inside their small minds and forget that purpose is blowing out the candles before you fall asleep and meticulously checking off each day on the calendar hanging in the kitchen and that's okay - everyone forgets to eat. but no one forgets how tasty their own secrets are secrets that get stuck in the throat and are forced out by men with slicked back hair and skewed ideas about gender roles. I'm smaller now. it's not enough.

0

Apr 3, 2018

Apr 3, 2018 at 5:46 AM UTC

calamity

whatever space you occupy, be smaller the world is shrinking the only thing expanding is the universe. Sometimes people surprise me they leave they become stuck inside their small minds and forget that purpose is blowing out the candles before you fall asleep and meticulously checking off each day on the calendar hanging in the kitchen and that's okay - everyone forgets to eat. but no one forgets how tasty their own secrets are secrets that get stuck in the throat and are forced out by men with slicked back hair and skewed ideas about gender roles. I'm smaller now. it's not enough.

14

I still don't know if I made the right choice.

0

Jan 18, 2015

Jan 18, 2015 at 3:22 AM UTC

Untitled

I still don't know if I made the right choice.

2

Do you ever wish you could leave and never come back just disappear for a while and be separate think feel every time I peel back a layer it regrows every time you pick up the newspaper I see though your bathrobe not everything is intentional. Words have changed with time I haven’t beneath the blankets is the same body with the same fingernails beneath the skin is the same heart pumping the same blood. I need someone to notice the tears in my eyes the way he always did or understand the reason I can’t shut my mouth is because I never truly have anything to say and I’m waiting for someone to notice that I need a real conversation to keep me going. There’s something familiar about the past and future molding together as if one is the same as the other and it’s the worst part that’s kept under lock and key, but still Kept I miss when I could lay down and feel something deeper than myself without questions without needing to find the right person to listen where did all the metaphors go? when we spoke in tongues we understood and we listened because it felt good, but it never mattered if we didn’t hear. You would light a match and it would excite me and now I have to wait until I’m alone to feel what I really feel to peak through the blinds and voice my questions. I still have old fears things like that don’t just disappear.

0

Nov 18, 2014

Nov 18, 2014 at 1:26 AM UTC

Reread

Do you ever wish you could leave and never come back just disappear for a while and be separate think feel every time I peel back a layer it regrows every time you pick up the newspaper I see though your bathrobe not everything is intentional. Words have changed with time I haven’t beneath the blankets is the same body with the same fingernails beneath the skin is the same heart pumping the same blood. I need someone to notice the tears in my eyes the way he always did or understand the reason I can’t shut my mouth is because I never truly have anything to say and I’m waiting for someone to notice that I need a real conversation to keep me going. There’s something familiar about the past and future molding together as if one is the same as the other and it’s the worst part that’s kept under lock and key, but still Kept I miss when I could lay down and feel something deeper than myself without questions without needing to find the right person to listen where did all the metaphors go? when we spoke in tongues we understood and we listened because it felt good, but it never mattered if we didn’t hear. You would light a match and it would excite me and now I have to wait until I’m alone to feel what I really feel to peak through the blinds and voice my questions. I still have old fears things like that don’t just disappear.

33

I can hear the water dripping From a memory into the faucet where the basin of my tears has been sitting, Waiting for you to drink them up Flavorless, but full of nutrition. This isn’t the same as it was. Your words are music, but the emptiness they are made of is more than lightening could shatter, more than any question I could answer. I don’t know where all my courage came from. One moment we were lovers, the next Betrayed and forgotten on the front steps (chilled concrete, running from shadows, knowing the world is evil) With you, I became some sort of second voice one that was heard one that was imaginary—I am now seeing more colors than I have ever seen before and it is ugly. They are blending together, becoming murky. I wish I could step backwards, but somehow I am propelled constantly towards something inside of me— forward!onward!— and it feels lighter, simpler than the heavy words I read (the ones that spilled from your seemingly empty mind and onto the page) I have not felt that way in a long time.

0

Feb 17, 2014

Feb 17, 2014 at 5:08 AM UTC

You shouldn't leave me alone

I can hear the water dripping From a memory into the faucet where the basin of my tears has been sitting, Waiting for you to drink them up Flavorless, but full of nutrition. This isn’t the same as it was. Your words are music, but the emptiness they are made of is more than lightening could shatter, more than any question I could answer. I don’t know where all my courage came from. One moment we were lovers, the next Betrayed and forgotten on the front steps (chilled concrete, running from shadows, knowing the world is evil) With you, I became some sort of second voice one that was heard one that was imaginary—I am now seeing more colors than I have ever seen before and it is ugly. They are blending together, becoming murky. I wish I could step backwards, but somehow I am propelled constantly towards something inside of me— forward!onward!— and it feels lighter, simpler than the heavy words I read (the ones that spilled from your seemingly empty mind and onto the page) I have not felt that way in a long time.

25

We **** to understand each other. your brooding silence my mix-matched, symbolic language the heat of your eyelashes and the weight of your smile my fractured, silken curves and the reminiscent scent of the afternoon on our skin the secrets hidden behind your teeth the way your hands change with your personality the reason my lips feel different when you smile when I’m tired; when your eyes are slits and mine are open; when your memories are deeper than mine We **** to get to know each other, to feel safe when you drive fast and to feel scared when you don’t. We **** to feel something: passion love sadness hope warmth We **** to get rid of the sour taste that lingers on our tongues simply because we don’t understand each other. We **** because we shouldn’t. Because no is more tempting than yes. Because what I want is not what I express. We **** without speaking Because ******* is a language, Because the secrets hidden behind your teeth and in my smile and in my hips are not secrets we are willing to speak. We are alive. We are human. But we are alone.

0

Feb 17, 2014

Feb 17, 2014 at 2:53 AM UTC

Untitled

We **** to understand each other. your brooding silence my mix-matched, symbolic language the heat of your eyelashes and the weight of your smile my fractured, silken curves and the reminiscent scent of the afternoon on our skin the secrets hidden behind your teeth the way your hands change with your personality the reason my lips feel different when you smile when I’m tired; when your eyes are slits and mine are open; when your memories are deeper than mine We **** to get to know each other, to feel safe when you drive fast and to feel scared when you don’t. We **** to feel something: passion love sadness hope warmth We **** to get rid of the sour taste that lingers on our tongues simply because we don’t understand each other. We **** because we shouldn’t. Because no is more tempting than yes. Because what I want is not what I express. We **** without speaking Because ******* is a language, Because the secrets hidden behind your teeth and in my smile and in my hips are not secrets we are willing to speak. We are alive. We are human. But we are alone.

31

what is it that bones are saying, so trapped and silenced by their fate beneath skin? whose idea was skin? let it wash off: your flesh is a figment of your imagination. I suppose I wouldn't be soft anymore but I wouldn't have to open my mouth for people to hear my secrets. bones are trees with initials carved in and hearts left whole when they have really been broken. bones have deeper thoughts than you or the circles that spiral the trunk of a thousand year old stump. bones know nothing and everything. you don't have to tell them. they are made of whispers, too afraid to say anything aloud (though they wouldn't be heard if they did). for years we have speculated, wondered why the earth's bones are so very brittle and why ours are so very small; smaller than the thoughts we pretend to think when we avoid eye contact or run out of things to say. what lies between one and the next is simply a breath we neglected to take when we were waiting to hear if everything was going to be okay. bones are wise. without listening we cant see. what is the point of walking around with our hands over our eyes and looking for our beds when we can lie down, remember to breathe, and rest in the gentle hand that we've always pushed away?

0

Feb 25, 2013

Feb 25, 2013 at 2:19 AM UTC

bones

what is it that bones are saying, so trapped and silenced by their fate beneath skin? whose idea was skin? let it wash off: your flesh is a figment of your imagination. I suppose I wouldn't be soft anymore but I wouldn't have to open my mouth for people to hear my secrets. bones are trees with initials carved in and hearts left whole when they have really been broken. bones have deeper thoughts than you or the circles that spiral the trunk of a thousand year old stump. bones know nothing and everything. you don't have to tell them. they are made of whispers, too afraid to say anything aloud (though they wouldn't be heard if they did). for years we have speculated, wondered why the earth's bones are so very brittle and why ours are so very small; smaller than the thoughts we pretend to think when we avoid eye contact or run out of things to say. what lies between one and the next is simply a breath we neglected to take when we were waiting to hear if everything was going to be okay. bones are wise. without listening we cant see. what is the point of walking around with our hands over our eyes and looking for our beds when we can lie down, remember to breathe, and rest in the gentle hand that we've always pushed away?

40

words are the stones you used to shut the water out; dammed and silent until broken, like the promises lost in a whisper and misconstrued by hopeful ears. where are you taking me? I can’t travel far without my oxygen mask and my flask of dreams, filled to the brim with something sour which smells shockingly similar to lies. always a different color than you think. Red: sweet and lonely, can be everyone’s lover. but when it comes to parenting, no one knows **** I don’t blame you. I have too many fingers for that, too many fingers to count the names you’ve called me but just enough to count the ones that have stung. final offer: going once. I’m not up for twice. the world has secrets you wouldn’t understand, but at least you can close your eyes, count to ten, and disappear. Some of us have the luxury of death, while others have the burden of living.

0

Feb 13, 2013

Feb 13, 2013 at 12:48 AM UTC

bed rest

words are the stones you used to shut the water out; dammed and silent until broken, like the promises lost in a whisper and misconstrued by hopeful ears. where are you taking me? I can’t travel far without my oxygen mask and my flask of dreams, filled to the brim with something sour which smells shockingly similar to lies. always a different color than you think. Red: sweet and lonely, can be everyone’s lover. but when it comes to parenting, no one knows **** I don’t blame you. I have too many fingers for that, too many fingers to count the names you’ve called me but just enough to count the ones that have stung. final offer: going once. I’m not up for twice. the world has secrets you wouldn’t understand, but at least you can close your eyes, count to ten, and disappear. Some of us have the luxury of death, while others have the burden of living.

36