zack - Hello Poetry

Don't be scared to sneeze in MATH105 Blow these numbers off the page, so I can finally have an excuse to Blow off some time with you I want to memorize what that sneeze sounds like, unique to the individual Each sound varies upon sneezers voice, allergies, voice box, larynx, even personality If that's all true, I bet even you, sneeze as **** as a mother ****** The only thing that I want more wet and slimey than the inside of your elbow, Is the way we make love "Oh baby, that's it! Sneeze for me! Sneeze harder! Sneezed like you've never sneezed for a man before and then sneeze harder!" Don't EVER hold a sneeze back! You're not only killing brain cells But killing me as well! I want to see what kind of tornados you can throw when a dust storm gets at you What demons are you hiding, not letting Christ expel Don't be ashamed! Are you scared that just you're sneeze Will create tsunami waves of attention If so! I'm buying a front row ticket wearing nothing but arm floaties and a rain coat If you get sick, kiss me with your breathe And well get over this cold- feet together I want to know your sneeze so when we Are cooking dinner, you can be half way through inhale And I'll have a tissue and the words "Bless you" Already trotting outta my mouth I want to be the blessed one To be within hearing distance Be able to bless you back See you come outta your shell for .237 seconds There to catch the science of your anatomy jumping off the cliff of your nose I want to be in the bookstore, Reading super hero graphic novels And hear you in your boredom two floors up at Starbucks, sneeze, And be able to say "YES! THATS MY MAN!!" You hear that one Peter Parker? Try to dodge your spidey-sense around that one! That's a sneeze that'd make the phone booth go inside Clark Kent! We'll have two kids, named Gesundheit and Salud The cat's name will be Ah-Choo Unless you're allergic to cats Then scratch the kids, we'll have A cat zoo! So I can hear the symphony Of your nostrils on the daily If you think this poem is gross Wait tell you see the way I sneeze When I'm thinking of you

0

Mar 19, 2014

Mar 19, 2014 at 5:02 PM UTC

for the cute boy who holds back his sneezes

Don't be scared to sneeze in MATH105 Blow these numbers off the page, so I can finally have an excuse to Blow off some time with you I want to memorize what that sneeze sounds like, unique to the individual Each sound varies upon sneezers voice, allergies, voice box, larynx, even personality If that's all true, I bet even you, sneeze as **** as a mother ****** The only thing that I want more wet and slimey than the inside of your elbow, Is the way we make love "Oh baby, that's it! Sneeze for me! Sneeze harder! Sneezed like you've never sneezed for a man before and then sneeze harder!" Don't EVER hold a sneeze back! You're not only killing brain cells But killing me as well! I want to see what kind of tornados you can throw when a dust storm gets at you What demons are you hiding, not letting Christ expel Don't be ashamed! Are you scared that just you're sneeze Will create tsunami waves of attention If so! I'm buying a front row ticket wearing nothing but arm floaties and a rain coat If you get sick, kiss me with your breathe And well get over this cold- feet together I want to know your sneeze so when we Are cooking dinner, you can be half way through inhale And I'll have a tissue and the words "Bless you" Already trotting outta my mouth I want to be the blessed one To be within hearing distance Be able to bless you back See you come outta your shell for .237 seconds There to catch the science of your anatomy jumping off the cliff of your nose I want to be in the bookstore, Reading super hero graphic novels And hear you in your boredom two floors up at Starbucks, sneeze, And be able to say "YES! THATS MY MAN!!" You hear that one Peter Parker? Try to dodge your spidey-sense around that one! That's a sneeze that'd make the phone booth go inside Clark Kent! We'll have two kids, named Gesundheit and Salud The cat's name will be Ah-Choo Unless you're allergic to cats Then scratch the kids, we'll have A cat zoo! So I can hear the symphony Of your nostrils on the daily If you think this poem is gross Wait tell you see the way I sneeze When I'm thinking of you

57

There’s a bus station inside of me  My emotions are always on time  But my actions are arriving later than ever  I’m the punk kid in the corner of the 23  Trying to escape home  When really,  I’m the elderly lady, nervously riding the 26  Trying to find her way back home. Home. We wander aimlessly around university boulevard  Pretending like we are college students  Knees shaking like my 3rd grade hands when  Dad taught me how to play poker Growing up is a gamble Except you have nothing to bet,  But everything to lose  College is a card game, but missing some of the 52’s  And the 21’s, barely 18’s The first time I got blindingly drunk  We were all just 18, just graduated  and we were drinking like it was  going to be our last drinks We said “I love you”  Like we were about to be sent to war  Society, war field  Knowledge, machine guns We said “I love you”   Like we were ghost  We never were so able  to see right through each other like we did that night We grew up hearing the scary stories  Of our battered haunted houses "Love." It wasn’t the tequila talking  But courage we found in fear  Fear that our mother’s would   **** us if she knew what we were doing * growing up* We stay up late in the dorms  spewing our dreams out of reality  I learned at a lecture once  That when galaxies form,   Masses spew out of control   Smashing into each other  until millions years later,   They find their orbit We’re becoming ourselves in the most  violent of ways  Smashing into things until  we get it right One time, I saw a toddler on the bus  Peeling off his own scab  In all his gore and glory  He held it up in pride,  "Look ma!" its amazing, that any age  We find new ways to make ourselves bleed  Just to make sure we’re still human

0

Mar 15, 2014

Mar 15, 2014 at 3:59 AM UTC

forming galaxies

There’s a bus station inside of me  My emotions are always on time  But my actions are arriving later than ever  I’m the punk kid in the corner of the 23  Trying to escape home  When really,  I’m the elderly lady, nervously riding the 26  Trying to find her way back home. Home. We wander aimlessly around university boulevard  Pretending like we are college students  Knees shaking like my 3rd grade hands when  Dad taught me how to play poker Growing up is a gamble Except you have nothing to bet,  But everything to lose  College is a card game, but missing some of the 52’s  And the 21’s, barely 18’s The first time I got blindingly drunk  We were all just 18, just graduated  and we were drinking like it was  going to be our last drinks We said “I love you”  Like we were about to be sent to war  Society, war field  Knowledge, machine guns We said “I love you”   Like we were ghost  We never were so able  to see right through each other like we did that night We grew up hearing the scary stories  Of our battered haunted houses "Love." It wasn’t the tequila talking  But courage we found in fear  Fear that our mother’s would   **** us if she knew what we were doing * growing up* We stay up late in the dorms  spewing our dreams out of reality  I learned at a lecture once  That when galaxies form,   Masses spew out of control   Smashing into each other  until millions years later,   They find their orbit We’re becoming ourselves in the most  violent of ways  Smashing into things until  we get it right One time, I saw a toddler on the bus  Peeling off his own scab  In all his gore and glory  He held it up in pride,  "Look ma!" its amazing, that any age  We find new ways to make ourselves bleed  Just to make sure we’re still human

54

I write poems for kids That too often get asked “are you a boy, or a girl” Because they are the only ones who Will understand the physical rush Of empowerment versus discouragement In their guts The question that verifies You have finally broken gender norms Unhuman. Floating in unearthly genderless celestial bodies “are you a boy, or a girl” Only to hit the ground faster than falling stars When told “you better ******* start acting like it” I write poems for kids Who have a bird cage for ribs And fish for a heart Raised on its ability to fly Look kid, you gotta learn how to swim away Because you’ll be question by bird keepers Until the day your veins are able to run upstream You’ll leave the closet to only join the zoo So enjoy the field trips And the bears, and the otters And learn to question the birds and the bees It’s okay to only want birds on birds, bees on bees It’s okay to want to try **** And it’s okay to want to stay as far away as possible To think about *** at sixteen and keep that sweet composure One day the reflection on the glass isn’t going to match The second grade smile behind it Frame yourself however you may choose It’s okay to have purple hair We all make mistakes Don't feel guilty for being too scared to tell your mother Your whole life, people have been trying to build you in the wrong direction They aren’t going to understand what it feels like To simply just wear Eyeliner, I understand, it’s war paint Or the kind of questions you’ll get all afternoon “are you a boy, or a girl” Your identity is not polarized Gender is a spectrum, not a just ***** There’s shades between the seven colors I fit in Recognize you’ll be lonely eight days of the week There’s no one like you at home or at school or work So step out of frames, Look at bigger pictures Every hallway is your catwalk, every shoe Can be your empire state stiletto Every **** ****** slur is compliment to the human anarchy inside your bones Your human anatomy matched with the way your mind things Is one of the greatest forms of activism And if you ever go through an emo phase, Be the baddest goth child you can be! I write poems for kids That fall between “boy and girl” I write poems that I wish I heard as a kid To tell kids to keep fighting Even though the war is not yet won There’s victory in every battle you tired

0

Mar 12, 2014

Mar 12, 2014 at 2:22 AM UTC

fish heart

I write poems for kids That too often get asked “are you a boy, or a girl” Because they are the only ones who Will understand the physical rush Of empowerment versus discouragement In their guts The question that verifies You have finally broken gender norms Unhuman. Floating in unearthly genderless celestial bodies “are you a boy, or a girl” Only to hit the ground faster than falling stars When told “you better ******* start acting like it” I write poems for kids Who have a bird cage for ribs And fish for a heart Raised on its ability to fly Look kid, you gotta learn how to swim away Because you’ll be question by bird keepers Until the day your veins are able to run upstream You’ll leave the closet to only join the zoo So enjoy the field trips And the bears, and the otters And learn to question the birds and the bees It’s okay to only want birds on birds, bees on bees It’s okay to want to try **** And it’s okay to want to stay as far away as possible To think about *** at sixteen and keep that sweet composure One day the reflection on the glass isn’t going to match The second grade smile behind it Frame yourself however you may choose It’s okay to have purple hair We all make mistakes Don't feel guilty for being too scared to tell your mother Your whole life, people have been trying to build you in the wrong direction They aren’t going to understand what it feels like To simply just wear Eyeliner, I understand, it’s war paint Or the kind of questions you’ll get all afternoon “are you a boy, or a girl” Your identity is not polarized Gender is a spectrum, not a just ***** There’s shades between the seven colors I fit in Recognize you’ll be lonely eight days of the week There’s no one like you at home or at school or work So step out of frames, Look at bigger pictures Every hallway is your catwalk, every shoe Can be your empire state stiletto Every **** ****** slur is compliment to the human anarchy inside your bones Your human anatomy matched with the way your mind things Is one of the greatest forms of activism And if you ever go through an emo phase, Be the baddest goth child you can be! I write poems for kids That fall between “boy and girl” I write poems that I wish I heard as a kid To tell kids to keep fighting Even though the war is not yet won There’s victory in every battle you tired

63

Liberation looks like teenagers mapping their voices in 10 minutes of silence Liberation is being free from the day’s struggles and tying them down to paper I’ve seen liberation happen Ink flowing on paper like they were flowing blood from their fingertips If you’re so angry Write a poem If you’ve ever been cheated out Write a poem If you’ve ever been lied to without the courtesy of it being done behind your back Write a poem Write every gut wrenching, self-deprecating, thought on paper Perform self-surgery to remove the weight of world from the bones in your shoulders By writing a poem If they’ve never understood what is was like to go to school every day lacking self-worth If they’ve never understood what it was like to go to school Where adults didn’t trust you, officers looked down on you “Get to class” – My only purpose in life was to get to class “Sorry teacher. I didn’t do my homework because being at home was too much work already.” Then write a poem For the broken desks and spirits Crumbling ceilings and facades Holes in the floor and education system That our school forgets to brag about Write a poem. To correct every materialistic, tech savvy, online, suit and tie, next big thing, Kind of ******** lie our school feeds us Liberate yourself by writing a poem For the principal that has no idea what happens in the classroom Liberate him For the students who don't know what doesn’t happen with administration Liberate them Write a poem Because if you fail, then will anybody notice Your silent shouts knocking on deaf ears Write a (love) poem About how this school became your four year long affair Five days a week. Even though you had your battles You’re going to miss this kind of relationship when it’s gone Liberate this kind of community Write a poem for the soles of the feet of boys and girls Who dance on broken bottles Copper glass shards Exoskeletons of alcoholics Scattered in a playground like tombstones in a graveyard Write a poem for the broken bottles your community got used to Liberate your community If you’ve ever been inspired here then write a poem To inspire others to loosen the wrinkles in the joints in their fingers Crinkle out the cracks in their wrist Get those palms to tell their own stories Write a poem That will make them raise their arms and shake Chains of oppression off their lungs to get them o Breathe Liberate them Write a poem that would make the roots of you ancestry shake their leaves Liberate your roots Liberate yourself – make them listen Liberate them – make yourself listen Liberate the 9th grade wannabe’s, drop out clichés, teenage mothers, Clueless administrators, kids feeling tied down to Tucson, Teachers lacking faith in change Boys and girls thinking they are forever Silenced Liberate those you are forever Silent Liberate yourself Write a poem

0

Feb 27, 2014

Feb 27, 2014 at 3:50 PM UTC

liberation lyrics

Liberation looks like teenagers mapping their voices in 10 minutes of silence Liberation is being free from the day’s struggles and tying them down to paper I’ve seen liberation happen Ink flowing on paper like they were flowing blood from their fingertips If you’re so angry Write a poem If you’ve ever been cheated out Write a poem If you’ve ever been lied to without the courtesy of it being done behind your back Write a poem Write every gut wrenching, self-deprecating, thought on paper Perform self-surgery to remove the weight of world from the bones in your shoulders By writing a poem If they’ve never understood what is was like to go to school every day lacking self-worth If they’ve never understood what it was like to go to school Where adults didn’t trust you, officers looked down on you “Get to class” – My only purpose in life was to get to class “Sorry teacher. I didn’t do my homework because being at home was too much work already.” Then write a poem For the broken desks and spirits Crumbling ceilings and facades Holes in the floor and education system That our school forgets to brag about Write a poem. To correct every materialistic, tech savvy, online, suit and tie, next big thing, Kind of ******** lie our school feeds us Liberate yourself by writing a poem For the principal that has no idea what happens in the classroom Liberate him For the students who don't know what doesn’t happen with administration Liberate them Write a poem Because if you fail, then will anybody notice Your silent shouts knocking on deaf ears Write a (love) poem About how this school became your four year long affair Five days a week. Even though you had your battles You’re going to miss this kind of relationship when it’s gone Liberate this kind of community Write a poem for the soles of the feet of boys and girls Who dance on broken bottles Copper glass shards Exoskeletons of alcoholics Scattered in a playground like tombstones in a graveyard Write a poem for the broken bottles your community got used to Liberate your community If you’ve ever been inspired here then write a poem To inspire others to loosen the wrinkles in the joints in their fingers Crinkle out the cracks in their wrist Get those palms to tell their own stories Write a poem That will make them raise their arms and shake Chains of oppression off their lungs to get them o Breathe Liberate them Write a poem that would make the roots of you ancestry shake their leaves Liberate your roots Liberate yourself – make them listen Liberate them – make yourself listen Liberate the 9th grade wannabe’s, drop out clichés, teenage mothers, Clueless administrators, kids feeling tied down to Tucson, Teachers lacking faith in change Boys and girls thinking they are forever Silenced Liberate those you are forever Silent Liberate yourself Write a poem

68

I’m always pen in hand to write the sins my lovers have committed But I more than ever, shy away from paper At the mention of the tragedies I’ve written The hearts I have broken The stories I’m ashamed to write

0

Feb 27, 2014

Feb 27, 2014 at 3:20 PM UTC

Untitled

I’m always pen in hand to write the sins my lovers have committed But I more than ever, shy away from paper At the mention of the tragedies I’ve written The hearts I have broken The stories I’m ashamed to write

5

Some nights I spend sleeping Other nights I’ll spend resting my head down on a keyboard Drowning in updates and refreshing pages Trying to find reasons for being up so **** late Lately, these nights that I worked a long eight hour shift Waiting to escape retail in hopes My friends aren’t busy, wanting to retell some stories The nights my friends hop restaurant to restaurant “We have no place to go" We’ve been riding these desert streets for hours Resurfacing our stories to heal our wounds Or maybe our laughter only masks it And we like to think it’s both You can ride these streets as fast as you like, trying to forget, but tonight, we write we ride we eat we share tonight, the moon plays catch-up with us, it’s desert wonderers the sun, tonight she’ll rest tonight, the roadrunner walked crossed the street with a lizard in its mouth looked me in the eye and swallowed it The desert bird didn’t serve its name’s purpose We’ve realized that sometimes, society, doesn’t serve it’s intentions but when so "we have no place to go" We’ll turn parking lots into neighborhoods Cars into homes, with kickbacks and house parties Turn songs into poems Become poetry ourselves Become trilogies of our most battered loved lives Find excuses for where the stars lie And sometimes we’ll swear they lie in our ex’s eyes And we’ll become what we don’t want to be in the dark vulnerable walking roadrunners poets who don’t write but in that moment, were just teenagers "with no place to go" We swear this summer is ours, That growing up doesn’t have to be synonymous with change That human beings aren’t equivalent to seasons That poems actually can be never ending if only we have the courage to write the beginning That Denny’s will always be a hotspot Cafe’s are temporary Dollar Menu’s are forever We’re everything but hungry Only starving For inspiration in a wasteland Unquenchable thirst for dreams of doing something in empty parking lots Trying to fill voids. Tonight, We replace our heartbreaks with these nights The nights we walk across roads Unknowing the other side, with lizards halfway down our throats Tonight We write, without looking both ways ~

0

Feb 27, 2014

Feb 27, 2014 at 3:20 PM UTC

Denny's Poem

Some nights I spend sleeping Other nights I’ll spend resting my head down on a keyboard Drowning in updates and refreshing pages Trying to find reasons for being up so **** late Lately, these nights that I worked a long eight hour shift Waiting to escape retail in hopes My friends aren’t busy, wanting to retell some stories The nights my friends hop restaurant to restaurant “We have no place to go" We’ve been riding these desert streets for hours Resurfacing our stories to heal our wounds Or maybe our laughter only masks it And we like to think it’s both You can ride these streets as fast as you like, trying to forget, but tonight, we write we ride we eat we share tonight, the moon plays catch-up with us, it’s desert wonderers the sun, tonight she’ll rest tonight, the roadrunner walked crossed the street with a lizard in its mouth looked me in the eye and swallowed it The desert bird didn’t serve its name’s purpose We’ve realized that sometimes, society, doesn’t serve it’s intentions but when so "we have no place to go" We’ll turn parking lots into neighborhoods Cars into homes, with kickbacks and house parties Turn songs into poems Become poetry ourselves Become trilogies of our most battered loved lives Find excuses for where the stars lie And sometimes we’ll swear they lie in our ex’s eyes And we’ll become what we don’t want to be in the dark vulnerable walking roadrunners poets who don’t write but in that moment, were just teenagers "with no place to go" We swear this summer is ours, That growing up doesn’t have to be synonymous with change That human beings aren’t equivalent to seasons That poems actually can be never ending if only we have the courage to write the beginning That Denny’s will always be a hotspot Cafe’s are temporary Dollar Menu’s are forever We’re everything but hungry Only starving For inspiration in a wasteland Unquenchable thirst for dreams of doing something in empty parking lots Trying to fill voids. Tonight, We replace our heartbreaks with these nights The nights we walk across roads Unknowing the other side, with lizards halfway down our throats Tonight We write, without looking both ways ~

65

I come from metallic bunk beds from American Express debt and Visa Master Card envelopes I am from run down two bedroom apartments, trying to contain a higher number of people than it had walls small. battered. it felt like a field I am from the palo verdé From the hissing noises from cicadas outside bronze screen door, they ring all summer long summer never ends here I am from large late night texas hold em games on Christmas night from yelling, insecurities, laughter from nostalgia from teenager high school romances Patrick. Susanne. I am from divorce and cousins living airplanes away I am from “don’t jump on that” “don’t touch that” “don’t run like that” from “I don’t feel like going to the hospital today” I come from that awkward phase when my parents like country music to when my dad tells me stories when he used to listen to Biggie "are you okay laddie" I come from Saturday Sabbath I still don’t know what grandma believes in but she believes in me I come from Germany. My mother sailed oceans avoiding war. I come from the land. My father witness oceans sailing to him start wars. from sweet tea to bitter coffee from the time I pulled out my brothers front teeth in a game of tug of war from the only pictures hanging in the hallway outside of what used to be my room. what was my room. I am from Saturday night drive thrus cruising south Tucson creating a place worth coming from where words drift off page, and family anchors it.

0

Feb 27, 2014

Feb 27, 2014 at 3:18 PM UTC

"where i come from"

I come from metallic bunk beds from American Express debt and Visa Master Card envelopes I am from run down two bedroom apartments, trying to contain a higher number of people than it had walls small. battered. it felt like a field I am from the palo verdé From the hissing noises from cicadas outside bronze screen door, they ring all summer long summer never ends here I am from large late night texas hold em games on Christmas night from yelling, insecurities, laughter from nostalgia from teenager high school romances Patrick. Susanne. I am from divorce and cousins living airplanes away I am from “don’t jump on that” “don’t touch that” “don’t run like that” from “I don’t feel like going to the hospital today” I come from that awkward phase when my parents like country music to when my dad tells me stories when he used to listen to Biggie "are you okay laddie" I come from Saturday Sabbath I still don’t know what grandma believes in but she believes in me I come from Germany. My mother sailed oceans avoiding war. I come from the land. My father witness oceans sailing to him start wars. from sweet tea to bitter coffee from the time I pulled out my brothers front teeth in a game of tug of war from the only pictures hanging in the hallway outside of what used to be my room. what was my room. I am from Saturday night drive thrus cruising south Tucson creating a place worth coming from where words drift off page, and family anchors it.

38

I dont know if it was because of the book you were reading Or if it was because the curvature of your sloped spine insinuated you were tired Or maybe it was because you just looked lonely But, you looked like you could write poetry it could’ve been the pen marks on your fingers Or the tan lines across your neck But eyes like that don’t just sit down Eyes like that start fires in my cheeks And picket signs in my chest And **** off legislators But more importantly they make me want to write I don’t know if it was the way your jaw clenched you Or the way your tongue bit your teeth But you looked like you could recite poetry And even worse, I wanted to listen I wanted to be your commitee, outreach, moral support I wanted to be your pen, paper, microphone, clothes on your back I wanted to be anything that touched your skin, touching me You’re least favorite feeling is when your holding back tears and your face is about to explode There’s reasons why the clouds look so heavy before falling God can hold so much in You said you don’t believe in luck, but you’re a firm believer in hope That three leaf clovers weren’t done growing when they were plucked That when a lady bug didn’t land on your hand, A premature baby somewhere is using his grasp his mother’s finger For the first time I want to hear the poetry that you’ll write about the spaces between your fingers It will be the closest i’ll ever get to holding them you were born an angry baby. with tears in your eyes But i use to poetry to say they weren’t angry. just eyes dancing.

0

Feb 27, 2014

Feb 27, 2014 at 3:17 PM UTC

you looked like a poem

I dont know if it was because of the book you were reading Or if it was because the curvature of your sloped spine insinuated you were tired Or maybe it was because you just looked lonely But, you looked like you could write poetry it could’ve been the pen marks on your fingers Or the tan lines across your neck But eyes like that don’t just sit down Eyes like that start fires in my cheeks And picket signs in my chest And **** off legislators But more importantly they make me want to write I don’t know if it was the way your jaw clenched you Or the way your tongue bit your teeth But you looked like you could recite poetry And even worse, I wanted to listen I wanted to be your commitee, outreach, moral support I wanted to be your pen, paper, microphone, clothes on your back I wanted to be anything that touched your skin, touching me You’re least favorite feeling is when your holding back tears and your face is about to explode There’s reasons why the clouds look so heavy before falling God can hold so much in You said you don’t believe in luck, but you’re a firm believer in hope That three leaf clovers weren’t done growing when they were plucked That when a lady bug didn’t land on your hand, A premature baby somewhere is using his grasp his mother’s finger For the first time I want to hear the poetry that you’ll write about the spaces between your fingers It will be the closest i’ll ever get to holding them you were born an angry baby. with tears in your eyes But i use to poetry to say they weren’t angry. just eyes dancing.

34

You were a tourist attraction That I held in my hands My fingers, constantly tracing the outline of your smile in photographs A memory A tourist attraction, is visited by thousands every year But I, I knew you’re story Where the bombs struck most Where the guns left the most bulletholes In your forgotten love life I remember you like the Alamo Broken, but still standing You were the tourist attraction, And I was the snow globe in your gift shop Shaken. Stirred. Removed. But I still carried a part of you inside me You were the Golden Gate Bridge From hipster photographs But I knew, your workings Like how you keep your ropes loosen To avoid constricting Breaking Throwing away Tourist every day photograph your beauty but I, I was the civilian who framed you in my doorway Statues are not freedom, they are committed to their solidarity Unwillingness to move The freedom is found in the boys eyes Who walks away with the snow globe Something new in his hands An attraction.

0

Dec 6, 2013

Dec 6, 2013 at 3:45 PM UTC

Attraction

You were a tourist attraction That I held in my hands My fingers, constantly tracing the outline of your smile in photographs A memory A tourist attraction, is visited by thousands every year But I, I knew you’re story Where the bombs struck most Where the guns left the most bulletholes In your forgotten love life I remember you like the Alamo Broken, but still standing You were the tourist attraction, And I was the snow globe in your gift shop Shaken. Stirred. Removed. But I still carried a part of you inside me You were the Golden Gate Bridge From hipster photographs But I knew, your workings Like how you keep your ropes loosen To avoid constricting Breaking Throwing away Tourist every day photograph your beauty but I, I was the civilian who framed you in my doorway Statues are not freedom, they are committed to their solidarity Unwillingness to move The freedom is found in the boys eyes Who walks away with the snow globe Something new in his hands An attraction.

34

The sun misses her west when she rises Thinks about her east when she lays down on her mountains of pillows She misses her night time talks with the moon Her skies long for his full being He miss being a rounded person "Sorry Darling, I'm in my crescent phase" Stars stir in her sleep Orbit around her when she can't get out of bed Indigo glow show reflections of the sky Blue Valentine Blue waves become discourage Question where lovers stand Wavering on the surface Dancing when the wind blows Listen to her stir The sun She is tired.

0

Jun 10, 2013

Jun 10, 2013 at 6:13 AM UTC

sun-kissed good night

The sun misses her west when she rises Thinks about her east when she lays down on her mountains of pillows She misses her night time talks with the moon Her skies long for his full being He miss being a rounded person "Sorry Darling, I'm in my crescent phase" Stars stir in her sleep Orbit around her when she can't get out of bed Indigo glow show reflections of the sky Blue Valentine Blue waves become discourage Question where lovers stand Wavering on the surface Dancing when the wind blows Listen to her stir The sun She is tired.

19