molly-claire - Hello Poetry

Written letters are left in the world of being done. They leave a strange sinking in your stomach, Like the one you get when your shirt grabs hold of The edge of a chair And pulls you back to the second before you rushed off. They don’t go softly, Like the biggest snowstorm of your life melting away. They wrinkle out the page they're printed on, Like leaving your favorite shirt under your bed for a while: It’s covered in waves. But then the fabric like the sea Turns into fabric like the sky Because your body stretched the color out. And you hate the sky because it’s too big But the sea was fine because it was limited And you don’t know where the sky ends And it’s scary. Then you think Maybe the wrinkles weren't so bad Because the shirt really was the sea with tides But it’s already turned into the sky: Stained with clouds And what’s done is done And you hate it. The clouds staining the sky Look like the guard rail scrapes That ruined the car your cousin crashed When he was seventeen. The striped scars on his back looked like the tiger’s: The one that eluded his imaginary rifle, Which he used to lug through his backyard jungle As a child. And when he turned into prey, He hunted himself.

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Feb 26, 2014

Feb 26, 2014 at 11:24 AM UTC

The World of Being Done

Written letters are left in the world of being done. They leave a strange sinking in your stomach, Like the one you get when your shirt grabs hold of The edge of a chair And pulls you back to the second before you rushed off. They don’t go softly, Like the biggest snowstorm of your life melting away. They wrinkle out the page they're printed on, Like leaving your favorite shirt under your bed for a while: It’s covered in waves. But then the fabric like the sea Turns into fabric like the sky Because your body stretched the color out. And you hate the sky because it’s too big But the sea was fine because it was limited And you don’t know where the sky ends And it’s scary. Then you think Maybe the wrinkles weren't so bad Because the shirt really was the sea with tides But it’s already turned into the sky: Stained with clouds And what’s done is done And you hate it. The clouds staining the sky Look like the guard rail scrapes That ruined the car your cousin crashed When he was seventeen. The striped scars on his back looked like the tiger’s: The one that eluded his imaginary rifle, Which he used to lug through his backyard jungle As a child. And when he turned into prey, He hunted himself.

34

A day without my mother Would begin at noon, As she wouldn’t be there To nag or drag me out of bed any earlier. A day without my mother Would feed me 1 piece of toast With 1 chunk of butter Or cinnamon toast crunch Or both, for that matter. A day without my mother Would send lonely texts to no one saying, “Heading home,” or “Do we need milk?” or “There’s a really good song on the radio so I’m gonna take a couple spins around the block until it’s over. Don’t panic if I’m not home at exactly 6:27.” A day without my mother would hardly be worth jotting down at all.

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Feb 26, 2014

Feb 26, 2014 at 11:22 AM UTC

A Day Without My Mother

A day without my mother Would begin at noon, As she wouldn’t be there To nag or drag me out of bed any earlier. A day without my mother Would feed me 1 piece of toast With 1 chunk of butter Or cinnamon toast crunch Or both, for that matter. A day without my mother Would send lonely texts to no one saying, “Heading home,” or “Do we need milk?” or “There’s a really good song on the radio so I’m gonna take a couple spins around the block until it’s over. Don’t panic if I’m not home at exactly 6:27.” A day without my mother would hardly be worth jotting down at all.

17

Sail away My own captain And dream of the seven You have yet to touch Let the salt Fill your lungs And the depth Bring you down As darkness Encompasses you And steals Away your breath Your thoughts Upon the waves Churn your stomach Making you ill

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Oct 31, 2013

Oct 31, 2013 at 5:47 PM UTC

Sail

Sail away My own captain And dream of the seven You have yet to touch Let the salt Fill your lungs And the depth Bring you down As darkness Encompasses you And steals Away your breath Your thoughts Upon the waves Churn your stomach Making you ill

16

The moon rises, In time with a sunken ship Out of the depths, For its nightly voyage. As this titanic vessel Stirs the tranquil waters of the dark, The crescent above guards it From the inevitable light to come. And as time spirals back to day The sun lurks unto the sea, Recoloring the waves From the night's black to day's blue-green, The celestial orb of night Slows its chase of the boat Whose nighttime travel Quiets to drop anchor, Forever blanketed By sundown. Forever led by the moon.

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Feb 8, 2013

Feb 8, 2013 at 10:00 AM UTC

Led by the Moon

The moon rises, In time with a sunken ship Out of the depths, For its nightly voyage. As this titanic vessel Stirs the tranquil waters of the dark, The crescent above guards it From the inevitable light to come. And as time spirals back to day The sun lurks unto the sea, Recoloring the waves From the night's black to day's blue-green, The celestial orb of night Slows its chase of the boat Whose nighttime travel Quiets to drop anchor, Forever blanketed By sundown. Forever led by the moon.

19

There's no one telling you Where to go Or what to do Or who to be. Sounds lovely, Really. But that's not the full truth There's always cons. You can't count on anything If there aren't any rules. You can't count on rocks being solid Or gravity being ever present. You will never know What's to happen next Or after that Or before you even came here. No one's given you guidelines You receive no help Totally alone And lost

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Oct 21, 2012

Oct 21, 2012 at 12:54 AM UTC

Rules, please.

There's no one telling you Where to go Or what to do Or who to be. Sounds lovely, Really. But that's not the full truth There's always cons. You can't count on anything If there aren't any rules. You can't count on rocks being solid Or gravity being ever present. You will never know What's to happen next Or after that Or before you even came here. No one's given you guidelines You receive no help Totally alone And lost

20

Today you wake up And something is different Something is more different than all the different in every other day you wake up, and feel different. Something is almost Wrong. You reach your hand over to feel her skin Yet you only feel the covers Odd. She's making breakfast You think to yourself You hope You flip your feet over the side of the bed and feel around for your slippers, Missing. You ***** around for your glasses, Gone. With blurred vision and wobbly steps You make your way down the steps The kitchen is a wreck No trace of the girl. This is how you lose her.

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Oct 8, 2012

Oct 8, 2012 at 11:17 PM UTC

This is How You Lose Her

Today you wake up And something is different Something is more different than all the different in every other day you wake up, and feel different. Something is almost Wrong. You reach your hand over to feel her skin Yet you only feel the covers Odd. She's making breakfast You think to yourself You hope You flip your feet over the side of the bed and feel around for your slippers, Missing. You ***** around for your glasses, Gone. With blurred vision and wobbly steps You make your way down the steps The kitchen is a wreck No trace of the girl. This is how you lose her.

22

Riddle me this, Riddle me that How the world can move forward But you stay back. Frozen in time With chills Down your spine The edges become Ripped, wrinkled Unkind Monsters jab from behind you And flooding waters rush towards your front You've been left with no protection In a world that is so blunt And still you're glued To that night In the hospital where he Lay And you screamed you lashed You scrambled and wept You pushed the death away Your eyes had dried And yet your heart Still feels broken through the core You'll never get over this death I fear Forevermore.

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Sep 10, 2012

Sep 10, 2012 at 10:04 AM UTC

Father

Riddle me this, Riddle me that How the world can move forward But you stay back. Frozen in time With chills Down your spine The edges become Ripped, wrinkled Unkind Monsters jab from behind you And flooding waters rush towards your front You've been left with no protection In a world that is so blunt And still you're glued To that night In the hospital where he Lay And you screamed you lashed You scrambled and wept You pushed the death away Your eyes had dried And yet your heart Still feels broken through the core You'll never get over this death I fear Forevermore.

27

Bluebells hanging down from their stems No metal is there But still you hear the ringing

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May 21, 2012

May 21, 2012 at 12:11 PM UTC

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