sarah-40 - Hello Poetry

I take the pose of the Madonna, Anguished limbs hanging heavy Light and dark The people behind me hold one another tight but do not kiss. Your bed is a vacuous portal: The coordinate points of collapse Syrup runs down my fingertips and I cannot – Faulty connection, a subtle messenger of Uncertain fate I am the thread, I am the fury I cut my bangs with safety scissors over The bathroom sink. Silence grows, the day falls, spent alongside idle worry and acute pains Fading to a dull ache, a gravitational pull, Eggs getting cold in the pan Muscles that atrophy safe from the light of Afternoon sun. Right hand blue, Simon says. But it’s just you and me on the edge of observable reality, you and I and cable television and white walls and I don’t I don’t know where to put my hands. I feel comfortable when we kiss, Eyes closed And I open mine first. Eyelashes, yours, And again, you are delicate How someone might love you, Gossamer and tangible, But eyes open again you are a stranger, Distant as the waves in your irises push me, As the space between your eyelids Drown me in the static of synthetic rain to fall Asleep to at night, or whenever you can, Amplified. You touch my skin as if it is plastic. Eyes closed once more we walk, My hand in silent combat with yours, Through the trash covered streets to the train. We kiss on the sidewalk and the ground shakes.

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Oct 4, 2017

Oct 4, 2017 at 6:25 PM UTC

alexander

I take the pose of the Madonna, Anguished limbs hanging heavy Light and dark The people behind me hold one another tight but do not kiss. Your bed is a vacuous portal: The coordinate points of collapse Syrup runs down my fingertips and I cannot – Faulty connection, a subtle messenger of Uncertain fate I am the thread, I am the fury I cut my bangs with safety scissors over The bathroom sink. Silence grows, the day falls, spent alongside idle worry and acute pains Fading to a dull ache, a gravitational pull, Eggs getting cold in the pan Muscles that atrophy safe from the light of Afternoon sun. Right hand blue, Simon says. But it’s just you and me on the edge of observable reality, you and I and cable television and white walls and I don’t I don’t know where to put my hands. I feel comfortable when we kiss, Eyes closed And I open mine first. Eyelashes, yours, And again, you are delicate How someone might love you, Gossamer and tangible, But eyes open again you are a stranger, Distant as the waves in your irises push me, As the space between your eyelids Drown me in the static of synthetic rain to fall Asleep to at night, or whenever you can, Amplified. You touch my skin as if it is plastic. Eyes closed once more we walk, My hand in silent combat with yours, Through the trash covered streets to the train. We kiss on the sidewalk and the ground shakes.

45

The sky splits tearing paper limbs from their comfortable contortion making known the predisposed discontent and conjuring discord to serve a new generation. Flooded veins pouring out of open wounds, never to dry up until soaked entirely through the constant patter of stagnant repression crafting static regression, drown in cheap memory repulsive harmony forced contention may it all return seeking revenge on a lifeless fragment a fraction of the initial structure.

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Aug 18, 2014

Aug 18, 2014 at 11:58 PM UTC

Downpour

The sky splits tearing paper limbs from their comfortable contortion making known the predisposed discontent and conjuring discord to serve a new generation. Flooded veins pouring out of open wounds, never to dry up until soaked entirely through the constant patter of stagnant repression crafting static regression, drown in cheap memory repulsive harmony forced contention may it all return seeking revenge on a lifeless fragment a fraction of the initial structure.

10

Tell me all your hopes and tell me all your dreams… never mind, forget it. replace it with bruises for my knees. I'm living in sin with your unfamiliar skin: I wanna be with you no matter what it takes, so meet me in the bathroom before the sun starts to rise. Take these entangled bodies, and mangled hearts, and just run until it all collapses. Trembling legs, scratched up backs: the marks of the misunderstood at midnight.

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Feb 16, 2014

Feb 16, 2014 at 7:46 PM UTC

//Bruises//

Tell me all your hopes and tell me all your dreams… never mind, forget it. replace it with bruises for my knees. I'm living in sin with your unfamiliar skin: I wanna be with you no matter what it takes, so meet me in the bathroom before the sun starts to rise. Take these entangled bodies, and mangled hearts, and just run until it all collapses. Trembling legs, scratched up backs: the marks of the misunderstood at midnight.

12

Watching the snow fall, from the same place as last year. With your head rested in my lap, your hand making small circles on the part of my back where my sweater doesn't cover, I remember when I would have given the world for this. Last year. When i watched you and some other girl, hoping that someday I could be her: exchanging meaningful smiles, laughing as if time had stopped. Here we are now, but time hasn't stopped for us, and all I can think of is what I used to want.

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Jan 11, 2014

Jan 11, 2014 at 1:09 AM UTC

Last Year

Watching the snow fall, from the same place as last year. With your head rested in my lap, your hand making small circles on the part of my back where my sweater doesn't cover, I remember when I would have given the world for this. Last year. When i watched you and some other girl, hoping that someday I could be her: exchanging meaningful smiles, laughing as if time had stopped. Here we are now, but time hasn't stopped for us, and all I can think of is what I used to want.

13

everything is so thick so heavy weighs down on a rapidly beating chest slow down, slow down. please dear god just stop. make it all stop. lift the dense air which collects in the core, raise the anchor: stop. Inhale, push hard against shackled lungs push reach trembling hands, push for it, exhale with ease, perhaps it is defeat... there is no more room for thick air, to congeal in your lungs, to deconstruct the very simplicity, reveal the complexity. take a breath of heavy air, and drown in it. the price of breathing is to breathe no more.

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Jan 4, 2014

Jan 4, 2014 at 3:46 AM UTC

Breathe

everything is so thick so heavy weighs down on a rapidly beating chest slow down, slow down. please dear god just stop. make it all stop. lift the dense air which collects in the core, raise the anchor: stop. Inhale, push hard against shackled lungs push reach trembling hands, push for it, exhale with ease, perhaps it is defeat... there is no more room for thick air, to congeal in your lungs, to deconstruct the very simplicity, reveal the complexity. take a breath of heavy air, and drown in it. the price of breathing is to breathe no more.

24

I remember stupid things. Like how the light made shadows on your forearm, and the side of your face, the warmly tanned skin painted with light. And how I stopped kissing you for a moment to tell you that the shadows were pretty, then your eyes looked into mine, the unexplainable fiery golden eyes, and you tilted your head and laughed a bit, and pulled me in closer, and kissed my neck. Its stupid. Its stupid that I remember, and that the air was so still that day, and that you signed the bottom of the pumpkin you bought me, and that it still hasn't decayed. Its stupid that I still think about all of this, and when I kiss my boyfriend I'm too nervous to tell him about the shadows on his skin, or to meet his explainable eyes, because it will bring me all too close and all too far from that moment.

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Jan 1, 2014

Jan 1, 2014 at 11:13 PM UTC

Hold on.

I remember stupid things. Like how the light made shadows on your forearm, and the side of your face, the warmly tanned skin painted with light. And how I stopped kissing you for a moment to tell you that the shadows were pretty, then your eyes looked into mine, the unexplainable fiery golden eyes, and you tilted your head and laughed a bit, and pulled me in closer, and kissed my neck. Its stupid. Its stupid that I remember, and that the air was so still that day, and that you signed the bottom of the pumpkin you bought me, and that it still hasn't decayed. Its stupid that I still think about all of this, and when I kiss my boyfriend I'm too nervous to tell him about the shadows on his skin, or to meet his explainable eyes, because it will bring me all too close and all too far from that moment.

20

An entire sequence of fantasy, played out in the course of four hours. Like all good dreams, an abrupt awakening, rude and cold, gasping for breath, attempts to make sense of what is essentially nothing but means so much more Video montages, played over and over in the mind. Tired, and overplayed, still powerful and overwhelming something out of a fairytale: the way the light plays off his face, the evening sun shining on the branches, grass swaying to make way of a ball, nervous giggles accompanying nervous cries of birds, anticipating the moment we may beautifully collide- reality surrounded by a haven of immortality and happiness of the purest type Unforgettable. Problematically so.

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Jan 1, 2014

Jan 1, 2014 at 10:12 PM UTC

**Linger**

An entire sequence of fantasy, played out in the course of four hours. Like all good dreams, an abrupt awakening, rude and cold, gasping for breath, attempts to make sense of what is essentially nothing but means so much more Video montages, played over and over in the mind. Tired, and overplayed, still powerful and overwhelming something out of a fairytale: the way the light plays off his face, the evening sun shining on the branches, grass swaying to make way of a ball, nervous giggles accompanying nervous cries of birds, anticipating the moment we may beautifully collide- reality surrounded by a haven of immortality and happiness of the purest type Unforgettable. Problematically so.

21