scottie-green - Hello Poetry

I can still smell The spit On my Fingers From the Early hours Of last Night Though My heart Is no longer Racing and My mind Has come To a calm My face No longer Damp With anxiety And beer No longer On my Breath. Yet I Can still Smell The spit Stuck To my Fingers After I played Out What she Had done With you That night. I came Over After Two drinks With No dinner After A car ride With missed Stop signs That I Should have Listened to After Novel text Messages And Few words After A day Spent On my Bedroom Floor Next to A mandala Diary And My colored Pens Laying under My birthday Blanket On a stuffed Animal By a puddle Of tissue Paper I went over To your House Last night. Where I Kissed you And your Body Until spit Covered My own Fingers Until you Threw me Under you With sudden Excitement And ****** And ****** And ****** Me Until My breath Grew shallow My lungs Collapsing Beneath My chest Drowning Beneath Your body Until My temple Shook Like a Stirring sea Until Tears came From my Face Like rain And then You stopped You hugged Me You asked Me Why I did What she did With you Why Did I want To replicate With spit Sliding Down my Fingers To be a Replica Of her You Held me Again Gave me Words Like medicine Then When my Breath Deepened And my Lungs Rushed air Into their Open space You Asked me To finish What I Had started So I ****** And ****** And ****** You Until You found Your finish.

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Nov 23, 2015

Nov 23, 2015 at 2:40 PM UTC

The Smell of Last Night

I can still smell The spit On my Fingers From the Early hours Of last Night Though My heart Is no longer Racing and My mind Has come To a calm My face No longer Damp With anxiety And beer No longer On my Breath. Yet I Can still Smell The spit Stuck To my Fingers After I played Out What she Had done With you That night. I came Over After Two drinks With No dinner After A car ride With missed Stop signs That I Should have Listened to After Novel text Messages And Few words After A day Spent On my Bedroom Floor Next to A mandala Diary And My colored Pens Laying under My birthday Blanket On a stuffed Animal By a puddle Of tissue Paper I went over To your House Last night. Where I Kissed you And your Body Until spit Covered My own Fingers Until you Threw me Under you With sudden Excitement And ****** And ****** And ****** Me Until My breath Grew shallow My lungs Collapsing Beneath My chest Drowning Beneath Your body Until My temple Shook Like a Stirring sea Until Tears came From my Face Like rain And then You stopped You hugged Me You asked Me Why I did What she did With you Why Did I want To replicate With spit Sliding Down my Fingers To be a Replica Of her You Held me Again Gave me Words Like medicine Then When my Breath Deepened And my Lungs Rushed air Into their Open space You Asked me To finish What I Had started So I ****** And ****** And ****** You Until You found Your finish.

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You With your Presently Bending Curls Beginning To grow back Starting again To tickle My fingertips Your soft hair Contrasting Every rough Outer Edge That makes up You Every Edge That I have Only barely Begun To soften Like sharp Edges Of my Childhood Sea glass Tumbled With Sand I wait Patiently To see how You form The corners Of your face Two Sharp Almost Right Angles Come together At your chin Just below A blonde Patch Of sunlit Beard That sits Beneath Your Lower lip Curling gently To meet Its upper Half Though rare To glance Your direction And catch A comet I call A smile Here is one of my Favorite Pieces Of you Your southern Eyes Though Baby blue Say nothing Of sympathy They hold Cool curiosity At times Your gaze Is softened Before shifting Looking past Me Settling Shortly Like you Then Quickly Growing Restless Your Dimples Press in Lifting The corners Of your smile Erasing Your gruff Canadian Edges Only Briefly Before exiting With your Adorable British smile At times Your little Crescent moons Hide Camouflaged Into your face Covered up By both Coarse and soft Red and blonde Rough and welcoming Your arms Hardened Wrap around Me Nothing Of you is Forgiving Your body Doesn't budge As I lean Into yours With mine Folding myself Into your Chest Against your Body The softest Part of you Is me Like Sandpaper You rub away At my skin Lifted calluses Of your palm Take to Curved Edges Of my Rounded corners All the more Smooth in your Embrace You Move Me Up And Down You fill My body With yours Pour me Full Of curiosity Of daydreams Of yesterday And tomorrow Emptied To come back For More I want To keep My eyes open While you Kiss me I want To see You Like my Sea glass Rough As you Pull And Push And Tumble Away Softened Moving Into me As the flesh Of my cheek Falls To your chest

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Jul 24, 2015

Jul 24, 2015 at 3:55 PM UTC

I want to write you a poem

You With your Presently Bending Curls Beginning To grow back Starting again To tickle My fingertips Your soft hair Contrasting Every rough Outer Edge That makes up You Every Edge That I have Only barely Begun To soften Like sharp Edges Of my Childhood Sea glass Tumbled With Sand I wait Patiently To see how You form The corners Of your face Two Sharp Almost Right Angles Come together At your chin Just below A blonde Patch Of sunlit Beard That sits Beneath Your Lower lip Curling gently To meet Its upper Half Though rare To glance Your direction And catch A comet I call A smile Here is one of my Favorite Pieces Of you Your southern Eyes Though Baby blue Say nothing Of sympathy They hold Cool curiosity At times Your gaze Is softened Before shifting Looking past Me Settling Shortly Like you Then Quickly Growing Restless Your Dimples Press in Lifting The corners Of your smile Erasing Your gruff Canadian Edges Only Briefly Before exiting With your Adorable British smile At times Your little Crescent moons Hide Camouflaged Into your face Covered up By both Coarse and soft Red and blonde Rough and welcoming Your arms Hardened Wrap around Me Nothing Of you is Forgiving Your body Doesn't budge As I lean Into yours With mine Folding myself Into your Chest Against your Body The softest Part of you Is me Like Sandpaper You rub away At my skin Lifted calluses Of your palm Take to Curved Edges Of my Rounded corners All the more Smooth in your Embrace You Move Me Up And Down You fill My body With yours Pour me Full Of curiosity Of daydreams Of yesterday And tomorrow Emptied To come back For More I want To keep My eyes open While you Kiss me I want To see You Like my Sea glass Rough As you Pull And Push And Tumble Away Softened Moving Into me As the flesh Of my cheek Falls To your chest

186

A little less Than a year ago I picture you: Your leg wrapped Around my torso And propped up By my hand; I have a purse, a drink, and you adorning my body Hanging onto me I am small You are smaller A cigarette Dangles From your Left fingertips Coffee and Champagne On your lips We both wear crowns Atop Our seemingly Stubborn smiles Happiness Will not Relent I have known You For so long Now Almost half Our little lives Tonight, I am proud Of you It is New Years You haven’t drank Too much You know This year Will be a good one Enough To tell me so Enough For me To believe In you Again Already Making changes, Setting promises Nothing is the same Since you Came home Two Augusts Ago Tonight, Had never before Fulfilled Its cliché promises But as of tomorrow We have our chalkboard Of rainbow colored erase marks At midnight, We get to Start Anew

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Dec 5, 2014

Dec 5, 2014 at 11:30 AM UTC

New Years

A little less Than a year ago I picture you: Your leg wrapped Around my torso And propped up By my hand; I have a purse, a drink, and you adorning my body Hanging onto me I am small You are smaller A cigarette Dangles From your Left fingertips Coffee and Champagne On your lips We both wear crowns Atop Our seemingly Stubborn smiles Happiness Will not Relent I have known You For so long Now Almost half Our little lives Tonight, I am proud Of you It is New Years You haven’t drank Too much You know This year Will be a good one Enough To tell me so Enough For me To believe In you Again Already Making changes, Setting promises Nothing is the same Since you Came home Two Augusts Ago Tonight, Had never before Fulfilled Its cliché promises But as of tomorrow We have our chalkboard Of rainbow colored erase marks At midnight, We get to Start Anew

67

Standing in The grocery store Dazing through Colored produce Her hands Tangled In her hair Looking past The people Passing Your ring On her finger A little lose Wires Of her hair Clutching Its turquoise Edges Looking Like she Is looking For you Like She never Got the phone call Like an answer Never came Like you only hid In the tall grass With a small And laughing Smile Like if I shook Her I would be The first To tell her Where are her words I wonder Falling From her lips From her Mangled mind Scattered and Silently pleading For rearrangement For a callback To say It was all A miscommunication They didn’t need Her daughter For the role To hear It was just A mistake The store Could make A refund Because this Isn’t What she bought Standing there I stare At her Staring Almost blankly Almost apathetic Almost just barely Uneasy Contemplating: If she pressed Hard enough Into her temples Wrapping Her fingers Deep into Her hair If she Could get it To become So quiet No one around Remained Maybe Time Could pause A moment To breathe A deep Breath Opening a door For understanding Overcome With relief Maybe then She could Press harder Releasing The reel Of time Letting it Roll backward I almost Don’t want To interrupt Though I know Her mind Is not quiet I place My hand On her Shoulder Softly As if To wake A sleeping Baby I almost Expect her To turn To me Not knowing Who I am To tilt Her head Back Her mouth Falling open And her face To become Wrought and Wet With distress It doesn’t She looks At me As if removed From some place Far from where We stand She says She thought She saw me Walk in I see Your eyes In her eyes She sees Your memories In mine We exchange Words Both Looking For you I realize She thought She almost Found you Until turning To see only My face The hurt It carries To her Placing it Back Into the Front seat Of her Memory Though she Had been Far From forgetting Standing Like two Lovers left By the same Lady An awkward Almost drunken Daze Her heart More broken Than mine It didn’t matter How much Either Of us Loved Our lover Left us It grows Silent I tell her, I need to go and return my mushrooms

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Nov 19, 2014

Nov 19, 2014 at 3:00 PM UTC

Your Mother

Standing in The grocery store Dazing through Colored produce Her hands Tangled In her hair Looking past The people Passing Your ring On her finger A little lose Wires Of her hair Clutching Its turquoise Edges Looking Like she Is looking For you Like She never Got the phone call Like an answer Never came Like you only hid In the tall grass With a small And laughing Smile Like if I shook Her I would be The first To tell her Where are her words I wonder Falling From her lips From her Mangled mind Scattered and Silently pleading For rearrangement For a callback To say It was all A miscommunication They didn’t need Her daughter For the role To hear It was just A mistake The store Could make A refund Because this Isn’t What she bought Standing there I stare At her Staring Almost blankly Almost apathetic Almost just barely Uneasy Contemplating: If she pressed Hard enough Into her temples Wrapping Her fingers Deep into Her hair If she Could get it To become So quiet No one around Remained Maybe Time Could pause A moment To breathe A deep Breath Opening a door For understanding Overcome With relief Maybe then She could Press harder Releasing The reel Of time Letting it Roll backward I almost Don’t want To interrupt Though I know Her mind Is not quiet I place My hand On her Shoulder Softly As if To wake A sleeping Baby I almost Expect her To turn To me Not knowing Who I am To tilt Her head Back Her mouth Falling open And her face To become Wrought and Wet With distress It doesn’t She looks At me As if removed From some place Far from where We stand She says She thought She saw me Walk in I see Your eyes In her eyes She sees Your memories In mine We exchange Words Both Looking For you I realize She thought She almost Found you Until turning To see only My face The hurt It carries To her Placing it Back Into the Front seat Of her Memory Though she Had been Far From forgetting Standing Like two Lovers left By the same Lady An awkward Almost drunken Daze Her heart More broken Than mine It didn’t matter How much Either Of us Loved Our lover Left us It grows Silent I tell her, I need to go and return my mushrooms

197

I wish the words would come That I could “ring them out like the rain” Even this one though Doesn’t end for me Degraded to online prompts With the delusional last-hope That these words Will bring mine some solace Three prompts shallow The charmed one stares bashfully back at me “Write about something or someone you lost” I used to write about sunshine Tattooed into your wrist My eyes incapable of reading past; The other prompts fall backward Blank and dull--nothing changed The page blurred I know that those are the only words I feel Even these words though And the feelings they evoke Are empty Nothing holds anything No laughter in your throat I see your pictures I want to dig it out From the cave of your mouth Frantic; I need to find your smile The words spoken only to me I miss you My spirit hinges between yesterday and tomorrow The present isolated—anything but lived With that thought You feel even more wasted ‘Wasted’ Prompts the image: Me slapping myself Popping the unspoken word from out of my mouth Wasted Black letters laying on the floor in a white wall room Staring back at me Erase this stanza Grow back my charisma Where did I lose my empathy Replaced with sick sympathy How could I say this about you Worse even, Is my silence After hearing from cold lips “what a shame” The lose breath hangs The words replaced with brief and noncommittal reflection Followed by the shake of a faceless head Before turning back to its newspaper The word Shame Stabs slowly Only because you did make all of your choices You did leave us Still, I keep my eyes from casting to the ground I am not left someplace dingy There is no soot covering where my cheeks should be rosey You are not shame The words do not come They sit muddied and sopping A rag dismissed to the few-days-grayed sidewalk Rain falls and attempts to take in space where there is none Even a sponge becomes too full I miss you

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Oct 11, 2014

Oct 11, 2014 at 7:27 PM UTC

Prompt: Write about anything but Her

I wish the words would come That I could “ring them out like the rain” Even this one though Doesn’t end for me Degraded to online prompts With the delusional last-hope That these words Will bring mine some solace Three prompts shallow The charmed one stares bashfully back at me “Write about something or someone you lost” I used to write about sunshine Tattooed into your wrist My eyes incapable of reading past; The other prompts fall backward Blank and dull--nothing changed The page blurred I know that those are the only words I feel Even these words though And the feelings they evoke Are empty Nothing holds anything No laughter in your throat I see your pictures I want to dig it out From the cave of your mouth Frantic; I need to find your smile The words spoken only to me I miss you My spirit hinges between yesterday and tomorrow The present isolated—anything but lived With that thought You feel even more wasted ‘Wasted’ Prompts the image: Me slapping myself Popping the unspoken word from out of my mouth Wasted Black letters laying on the floor in a white wall room Staring back at me Erase this stanza Grow back my charisma Where did I lose my empathy Replaced with sick sympathy How could I say this about you Worse even, Is my silence After hearing from cold lips “what a shame” The lose breath hangs The words replaced with brief and noncommittal reflection Followed by the shake of a faceless head Before turning back to its newspaper The word Shame Stabs slowly Only because you did make all of your choices You did leave us Still, I keep my eyes from casting to the ground I am not left someplace dingy There is no soot covering where my cheeks should be rosey You are not shame The words do not come They sit muddied and sopping A rag dismissed to the few-days-grayed sidewalk Rain falls and attempts to take in space where there is none Even a sponge becomes too full I miss you

67

Everything means so much more now Even a stamp pressed perfectly by your once-fingertips If pressed imperfectly - with the right corner lifted and protruding The spot where your finger missed means even more There you are left Anything but encased There sits the reality of human character (Perfectly) flawed

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Sep 28, 2014

Sep 28, 2014 at 8:10 PM UTC

Butterflies Mean So Much More

Everything means so much more now Even a stamp pressed perfectly by your once-fingertips If pressed imperfectly - with the right corner lifted and protruding The spot where your finger missed means even more There you are left Anything but encased There sits the reality of human character (Perfectly) flawed

8

Until your birthday January kept it's cold claws in Texas until May Sometimes I wonder if it's you Who makes it shine or makes it gray I wonder if those days you are missing us too Cold holds your shoulders I hope not I wonder If the cold felt refreshing and you thought I'd like it too You were one for winter Who hated the heat And saw beauty I didn't In colorless December Maybe it should have been my birthday in June And you'd have November But you were too warm Don't worry I will always remember Summer nights with you Like yesterday When we first met that May It was five years past then you left one day I wrote you With guilt on my fingers Like Poe Dread pulled me from my bed I didn't know you were leaving I'd have hugged you longer Told you twice I loved you Believed in you Was proud of you At least you could read my letters then Now it's June and there's no sign of you Just your birth day sitting clouded in the future I wonder How that day will feel Not so lost like January Maybe isolating like a frozen TV dinner meal 5 months passed since your passing Life has never felt so long After witnessing how brief it can be The days were slow And January still has it's breeze in me

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Sep 9, 2014

Sep 9, 2014 at 2:21 PM UTC

Eight Days

Until your birthday January kept it's cold claws in Texas until May Sometimes I wonder if it's you Who makes it shine or makes it gray I wonder if those days you are missing us too Cold holds your shoulders I hope not I wonder If the cold felt refreshing and you thought I'd like it too You were one for winter Who hated the heat And saw beauty I didn't In colorless December Maybe it should have been my birthday in June And you'd have November But you were too warm Don't worry I will always remember Summer nights with you Like yesterday When we first met that May It was five years past then you left one day I wrote you With guilt on my fingers Like Poe Dread pulled me from my bed I didn't know you were leaving I'd have hugged you longer Told you twice I loved you Believed in you Was proud of you At least you could read my letters then Now it's June and there's no sign of you Just your birth day sitting clouded in the future I wonder How that day will feel Not so lost like January Maybe isolating like a frozen TV dinner meal 5 months passed since your passing Life has never felt so long After witnessing how brief it can be The days were slow And January still has it's breeze in me

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I want to feel like it all fits in the end But what's the point in feeling If it doesn't fit until the end The End

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Jun 9, 2014

Jun 9, 2014 at 6:12 PM UTC

The Beginning

I want to feel like it all fits in the end But what's the point in feeling If it doesn't fit until the end The End

4

Words that I often don't even remember I wonder if these of teal ink and hot April hold anything If only to a distant me that time will someday pass too Or if they are stories told and forgotten Sitting on pages with scribbled dates At the beggining of my book At the back of my memory Buried by their own epic poem

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May 9, 2014

May 9, 2014 at 11:14 PM UTC

I have so much of my life in words

Words that I often don't even remember I wonder if these of teal ink and hot April hold anything If only to a distant me that time will someday pass too Or if they are stories told and forgotten Sitting on pages with scribbled dates At the beggining of my book At the back of my memory Buried by their own epic poem

8

I lost you As the Universe intended it I shaking there A lonely poet

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Mar 26, 2014

Mar 26, 2014 at 4:29 PM UTC

Then

I lost you As the Universe intended it I shaking there A lonely poet

4