victoria-truax - Hello Poetry

Dear Seventeen-year-old Me, I hate you. No, no, I guess I don't hate you. But I sure do hate parts of you. I hate the part of you that didn't work for what you said you wanted. What the hell was that? I apologize, Seventeen-year-old Me, because I know you will be disappointed in my use of the word hell, but "what the heck" just sounds like a joke to me now. You worked a bit, I'll give you that, but when it came down to it, to the parts that mattered the most, you did next to nothing. You were holding your dreams in your hands and you sat back and watched as life took it away from you. You yelled and screamed and complained, but you didn't fight! You didn't even move! So I say to you again, what the hell was that? And this time I do not apologize. Because now I don't have something to defend, 'cause you went and got a big head and lost it. So I will fight to gain back what you lost, and then I will fight even harder to keep it. Because even though I loathe parts of you, you have taught me to fight for the things I want, the things I love, the things I dream about. And for that I love you. And for that I thank you. See you sooner than you think, -VT

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Sep 2, 2013

Sep 2, 2013 at 11:30 PM UTC

Dear Seventeen-Year-Old Me

Dear Seventeen-year-old Me, I hate you. No, no, I guess I don't hate you. But I sure do hate parts of you. I hate the part of you that didn't work for what you said you wanted. What the hell was that? I apologize, Seventeen-year-old Me, because I know you will be disappointed in my use of the word hell, but "what the heck" just sounds like a joke to me now. You worked a bit, I'll give you that, but when it came down to it, to the parts that mattered the most, you did next to nothing. You were holding your dreams in your hands and you sat back and watched as life took it away from you. You yelled and screamed and complained, but you didn't fight! You didn't even move! So I say to you again, what the hell was that? And this time I do not apologize. Because now I don't have something to defend, 'cause you went and got a big head and lost it. So I will fight to gain back what you lost, and then I will fight even harder to keep it. Because even though I loathe parts of you, you have taught me to fight for the things I want, the things I love, the things I dream about. And for that I love you. And for that I thank you. See you sooner than you think, -VT

11

There's a fine line between you and me. Some days I tiptoe to the edge And peek over to your side, And wonder what it would be like to be Looking at me From your point of view. I spend Thirty percent of the time Worrying about how silly I look, Tiptoeing the edge, Twenty-two percent talking and daydreaming about What it would be like on the Other side With you, And Forty-three percent of the time Convincing myself that I don't give a crap how Silly tiptoeing to the edge must look. The last five percent I spend thinking about how The line Is much thicker than The dreamer in me Would like to admit.

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Jun 2, 2013

Jun 2, 2013 at 10:45 PM UTC

The Line

There's a fine line between you and me. Some days I tiptoe to the edge And peek over to your side, And wonder what it would be like to be Looking at me From your point of view. I spend Thirty percent of the time Worrying about how silly I look, Tiptoeing the edge, Twenty-two percent talking and daydreaming about What it would be like on the Other side With you, And Forty-three percent of the time Convincing myself that I don't give a crap how Silly tiptoeing to the edge must look. The last five percent I spend thinking about how The line Is much thicker than The dreamer in me Would like to admit.

25

I need to write a poem. But I can't think how to Put in words What I

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Jun 2, 2013

Jun 2, 2013 at 10:44 PM UTC

Unfinished Poetry

I need to write a poem. But I can't think how to Put in words What I

4

Twenty Four Hours. Over a year ago My theatre teacher told me And a group of my closest friends To write down Exactly what we would do if We found out we only had Twenty-four hours left To live. My original draft was very juvenile, Full of dramatic kisses And dying in my crush's arms. It was beautiful For a seventeen-year-old romantic. I don't know if my teacher realized That I would become slightly Obsessed with What I would do If I had twenty-four hours to live. But whether she realized or not, Obsessed I became. I wrote "24" or my hand each day For weeks, To remind me that I could be Dead in twenty-four hours, Or less. I wrote at least fifty drafts Of what I would do If I found out at that moment That I had twenty-four hours left. I would write a new draft when I decided That the previous draft was Too out-dated. I think the longest lasting draft During my surge of Twenty-four hour hypotheticals Lasted one week. One. I was totally obsessed with daring greatly, Doing the things I had longed to do For weeks or months or years, And suddenly I had the permission I needed To do them: Twenty-four hours to live. My drafting came to an end when My best friend Handed me the best Twenty-four hour outline I had ever seen. At the top read the disclosure: And you get into heaven no matter what. I couldn't surpass that list with any of my own ideas. And my obsessment was already dimming. A year and a half or more later, I don't make drafts. I'm not obsessed. I'm not going to die. But every once in a while When I feel like I'm not living Life To it's fullest, I write "24" on my hand for A few days. Just to remind myself, That at any moment, My twenty-four hours left to live Could be up.

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Jun 2, 2013

Jun 2, 2013 at 10:44 PM UTC

Twenty-Four Hours

Twenty Four Hours. Over a year ago My theatre teacher told me And a group of my closest friends To write down Exactly what we would do if We found out we only had Twenty-four hours left To live. My original draft was very juvenile, Full of dramatic kisses And dying in my crush's arms. It was beautiful For a seventeen-year-old romantic. I don't know if my teacher realized That I would become slightly Obsessed with What I would do If I had twenty-four hours to live. But whether she realized or not, Obsessed I became. I wrote "24" or my hand each day For weeks, To remind me that I could be Dead in twenty-four hours, Or less. I wrote at least fifty drafts Of what I would do If I found out at that moment That I had twenty-four hours left. I would write a new draft when I decided That the previous draft was Too out-dated. I think the longest lasting draft During my surge of Twenty-four hour hypotheticals Lasted one week. One. I was totally obsessed with daring greatly, Doing the things I had longed to do For weeks or months or years, And suddenly I had the permission I needed To do them: Twenty-four hours to live. My drafting came to an end when My best friend Handed me the best Twenty-four hour outline I had ever seen. At the top read the disclosure: And you get into heaven no matter what. I couldn't surpass that list with any of my own ideas. And my obsessment was already dimming. A year and a half or more later, I don't make drafts. I'm not obsessed. I'm not going to die. But every once in a while When I feel like I'm not living Life To it's fullest, I write "24" on my hand for A few days. Just to remind myself, That at any moment, My twenty-four hours left to live Could be up.

69

The caterpillar was raised by worms. The worms loved the caterpillar, But the worms didn't know much About the caterpillar's nature. They tried to understand, And they tried to help as best they could, But when the caterpillar got really hungry, All they could understand was that They had never been so hungry, And they were happy, And if the caterpillar wasn't careful, He would become corpulent and fat. So in their kind, ignorant, wormy way, The wonderful worm family Discouraged the caterpillar from eating too much, And being too hungry. The caterpillar was confused, But he loved his worm family So he tried his best to eat less and Not get too hungry. But the less the caterpillar ate, The more hungry he got, Until he was so starving, He didn't even feel like himself. He felt sad and sluggish and purposeless. Then, in the middle of the night, The caterpillar snuck up to he favourite leafy tree, To just get a small midnight snack. Before he knew it though, he had eaten An entire branch of leaves. And the caterpillar was still hungry. He couldn't get enough. He ate all through the night, and into the next day. When his worm family awoke, They saw the caterpillar up in the tree Eating away. They tried their best to get the caterpillar to stop, But it was too late. Soon with tears in their eyes, The worms saw they're dear brother Become sluggish and Tired. Until finally The caterpillar wrapped himself up in a whitened Casket, and hang motionless in a leafy Grave. The worm family mourned the loss of their beloved caterpillar brother, And once again warned the other children about the dangers Of being too hungry. A few days later, One of the wormy sisters went to visit her brother's grave. But when she arrived she saw the most miraculous thing! A butterfly was emerging from her brother's tomb. The caterpillar-butterfly Was not angry at the worms for trying to stop him from becoming a butterfly, They didn't know he would be able to Be a butterfly after all, And they were just trying to keep the caterpillar from harm. After the family had a beautiful reunion, The butterfly flew away to somewhere He could be hungry, and beautiful. And Somewhere he could fly.

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Jun 2, 2013

Jun 2, 2013 at 10:43 PM UTC

The Legend of the Caterpillar

The caterpillar was raised by worms. The worms loved the caterpillar, But the worms didn't know much About the caterpillar's nature. They tried to understand, And they tried to help as best they could, But when the caterpillar got really hungry, All they could understand was that They had never been so hungry, And they were happy, And if the caterpillar wasn't careful, He would become corpulent and fat. So in their kind, ignorant, wormy way, The wonderful worm family Discouraged the caterpillar from eating too much, And being too hungry. The caterpillar was confused, But he loved his worm family So he tried his best to eat less and Not get too hungry. But the less the caterpillar ate, The more hungry he got, Until he was so starving, He didn't even feel like himself. He felt sad and sluggish and purposeless. Then, in the middle of the night, The caterpillar snuck up to he favourite leafy tree, To just get a small midnight snack. Before he knew it though, he had eaten An entire branch of leaves. And the caterpillar was still hungry. He couldn't get enough. He ate all through the night, and into the next day. When his worm family awoke, They saw the caterpillar up in the tree Eating away. They tried their best to get the caterpillar to stop, But it was too late. Soon with tears in their eyes, The worms saw they're dear brother Become sluggish and Tired. Until finally The caterpillar wrapped himself up in a whitened Casket, and hang motionless in a leafy Grave. The worm family mourned the loss of their beloved caterpillar brother, And once again warned the other children about the dangers Of being too hungry. A few days later, One of the wormy sisters went to visit her brother's grave. But when she arrived she saw the most miraculous thing! A butterfly was emerging from her brother's tomb. The caterpillar-butterfly Was not angry at the worms for trying to stop him from becoming a butterfly, They didn't know he would be able to Be a butterfly after all, And they were just trying to keep the caterpillar from harm. After the family had a beautiful reunion, The butterfly flew away to somewhere He could be hungry, and beautiful. And Somewhere he could fly.

62

Anxiety. Conserve. Conservatory. Shakespeare. Man. Monk. **** I ****** I'm better. Expulsion. Breathe. Friend. Not friend. Friend. Best friend. Awkward. I still have that. Dress. Tights. Queen. Mill. Birthday. Song. 500. Guitar. Tears. Nostalgia. Nostalgic. Dead. You're dead. You're dying. I'm dying. I'm dead. I'm not dead. 24. You're blonde. I'm not blonde. I'm old. I'm still old. I'm a child. I'm going to cry. Stop. I don't cry. No more crying. I'm allowed to cry here. That's why I cry here. I'm allowed. I can do what I want. I know what I want. I have no idea what I want. But I think that's what I want. I'm not doing what I want. But this is enough. It's not enough. I'll make it enough. Where am I? 24. Twenty. Four. Stop thinking.

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Jun 2, 2013

Jun 2, 2013 at 10:42 PM UTC

Stream of Conciousness

Anxiety. Conserve. Conservatory. Shakespeare. Man. Monk. **** I ****** I'm better. Expulsion. Breathe. Friend. Not friend. Friend. Best friend. Awkward. I still have that. Dress. Tights. Queen. Mill. Birthday. Song. 500. Guitar. Tears. Nostalgia. Nostalgic. Dead. You're dead. You're dying. I'm dying. I'm dead. I'm not dead. 24. You're blonde. I'm not blonde. I'm old. I'm still old. I'm a child. I'm going to cry. Stop. I don't cry. No more crying. I'm allowed to cry here. That's why I cry here. I'm allowed. I can do what I want. I know what I want. I have no idea what I want. But I think that's what I want. I'm not doing what I want. But this is enough. It's not enough. I'll make it enough. Where am I? 24. Twenty. Four. Stop thinking.

60

Fold me, Pull me, Twist me, Crumple me, Then tie me up. Cover me in reds, And purples and blues, Then leave me alone. For hours. For days. Let me sit Alone, Crumpled, Twisted, And detained Soaking in The red and blue and purple. Discoloring. You come back when you want to. And I let you pick me up and Untie me, Try to clean me. I think I'm free, But I'm purple, Blue, And red. Tie dyed.

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Jun 2, 2013

Jun 2, 2013 at 10:42 PM UTC

Ballad of a Tie-Dyed T-Shirt

Fold me, Pull me, Twist me, Crumple me, Then tie me up. Cover me in reds, And purples and blues, Then leave me alone. For hours. For days. Let me sit Alone, Crumpled, Twisted, And detained Soaking in The red and blue and purple. Discoloring. You come back when you want to. And I let you pick me up and Untie me, Try to clean me. I think I'm free, But I'm purple, Blue, And red. Tie dyed.

28

I've changed. I've changed for the better. And I like it. I wear what I want to, Do my hair the way I think it looks nicest, I do my make up some days, Don't do it others, Because I am no longer trying to impress anyone But myself. I don't need a single soul to like me Or love me Except Me. So I've been holding myself a little taller, Singing a little louder, Laughing a little harder, Telling people what I think, and Being a little more of me. And the world knows me a lot better Than the old me Would like. But the new me Loves it, And the reasons that the old me Hates it, Is the exact reason I'm doing it. Because I'm tired of doing things because I think it will make me cooler Or funnier Or prettier Or nicer Or more talented Or better liked Or whatever else. And I thought that If I did what was Cool Or funny Or pretty Or nice I would be confident. I would finally be totally confident in myself. Nope. Only when I decided that I am Plenty cool And plenty funny And plenty pretty Am I finally confident. And the only person I needed to tell me that I am good enough Was Me.

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Jun 2, 2013

Jun 2, 2013 at 10:41 PM UTC

Me

I've changed. I've changed for the better. And I like it. I wear what I want to, Do my hair the way I think it looks nicest, I do my make up some days, Don't do it others, Because I am no longer trying to impress anyone But myself. I don't need a single soul to like me Or love me Except Me. So I've been holding myself a little taller, Singing a little louder, Laughing a little harder, Telling people what I think, and Being a little more of me. And the world knows me a lot better Than the old me Would like. But the new me Loves it, And the reasons that the old me Hates it, Is the exact reason I'm doing it. Because I'm tired of doing things because I think it will make me cooler Or funnier Or prettier Or nicer Or more talented Or better liked Or whatever else. And I thought that If I did what was Cool Or funny Or pretty Or nice I would be confident. I would finally be totally confident in myself. Nope. Only when I decided that I am Plenty cool And plenty funny And plenty pretty Am I finally confident. And the only person I needed to tell me that I am good enough Was Me.

54

I went on a walk today. A long walk. I was feeling weird, and I like walking. But when I don't have anything to distract me from my thoughts My mind wanders to you. Then before I know it I'm turning my head each time a car passes That looks remotely like yours, Just wondering if it was you. I don't think it was. But I couldn't tell that last time. I really don't know why you consume my thoughts. Yes, You're attractive, And kind, And passionate, And mature, And pretty much all of the things that I like in a man, But I mean, There's no way I have a chance. I don't have a chance. I don't think I have a chance. But I guess I could have a chance. What if I have a chance? I totally have a chance. But, Whatever, because I'm totally over you, So it doesn't even matter. But I really couldn't tell that last time if It was you driving the car.

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Jun 2, 2013

Jun 2, 2013 at 10:40 PM UTC

A Walk and a Thought or Three

I went on a walk today. A long walk. I was feeling weird, and I like walking. But when I don't have anything to distract me from my thoughts My mind wanders to you. Then before I know it I'm turning my head each time a car passes That looks remotely like yours, Just wondering if it was you. I don't think it was. But I couldn't tell that last time. I really don't know why you consume my thoughts. Yes, You're attractive, And kind, And passionate, And mature, And pretty much all of the things that I like in a man, But I mean, There's no way I have a chance. I don't have a chance. I don't think I have a chance. But I guess I could have a chance. What if I have a chance? I totally have a chance. But, Whatever, because I'm totally over you, So it doesn't even matter. But I really couldn't tell that last time if It was you driving the car.

33

I've written four poems today. I've posted none of them. That's because they're all about love. And I can't handle too many love poems. Also, Two of the four were oddly specific, Three were much too mushy, And the fourth was incredibly bitter. I'll post this one. This is not a love poem.

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Jun 2, 2013

Jun 2, 2013 at 10:39 PM UTC

Love Poems

I've written four poems today. I've posted none of them. That's because they're all about love. And I can't handle too many love poems. Also, Two of the four were oddly specific, Three were much too mushy, And the fourth was incredibly bitter. I'll post this one. This is not a love poem.

10