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Chris Bee Sep 15
I found myself at another shop, a ritual of mine,
pondering its wares, as if I were actually interested.
The whole song-and-dance was routine by now.
I finally got to the section I was wanting,
and the small bin sat there, waiting for me.
The mass of colors and styles and shapes and sizes
were making my selection difficult;
they all had such different appeals to them,
such different ways others would judge them,
judge me for wearing them.
After finding something to my liking,
I slipped it inside my jacket pocket,
already adorn with many of its brothers and sisters,
coming from several
different locations,
different times,
different people.
I hurriedly left, ignoring the cashier’s bored “see ya next time.”
At the food court, I sat, meeting with my friends.
I sit, observe as they speak.
Much like the bin at the shop,
I look for something in them.
A hobby,
an interest,
an accent even,
just to call my own.
Finally, a joke is made, relating to a teacher,
and I got it.
I smiled to myself,
ready to incorporate
what I had stolen from my friend.
Part 4 of 4 of four works I did for an emulation portfolio. This poem is an emulation of the style from David Ignatow's “The Bagel.”
Chris Bee Sep 15
Do you remember the first time we met?
When I snuck out? My parents thought I was gone for the weekend, camping with a friend.
Instead, I came to you.

Do you remember how long that drive felt?
Did we really understand how far Texas is from Arizona? but hearing your voice on the phone
made the distance feel less daunting.

Do you remember the party my family planned for you
when you first moved in? You cried about it being
your first real birthday party.
They loved you from that first moment.

Do you remember that first tiff?
We both sat in silence for a minute, thinking it over; you
spoke first, something that was hard for me.
I felt so happy for it all to be over.

Do you remember how it felt to truly love each other? Do I?
I thought I didn't want to break your
heart by saying it was over,
but the reality was, I feared being alone again.

Thankfully, you had enough strength for both of us.
Though it hurt, the feeling of relief was immense. Do you remember me being happy?
It has been a while.

When will it come back?
Part 3 of 4 of four works I did for an emulation portfolio. This poem is an emulation of the style from Maria Hummel's “I’m This Many.”
Chris Bee Sep 15
Hey Mom,

I just wanted to tell you about the amazing day I am having. First, I woke up to water dripping on me, as if the leaky roof were trying to improve the lumpy bed by giving it a good soak- when the brochure said I “would feel closer to nature more than ever,” I didn't think it meant so literal. After salvaging some semi-dry clothes, I went outside to realize my car window had been broken into. It was dumb of me for leaving my laptop bag in the car when I got in last night, I was just so exhausted from the drive. Well, you know how I get when I get upset, so I chunked my phone, as if it was the one causing my great morning. It landed in some bushes, and after wrestling with the branches for a bit, I finally saw him. Not even ten feet away from my phone did I see the most beautiful pelican. Something about his simple eyes, looking at me with some mixture of boredom and apathy, made me realize where I was. The cool air filled my lungs, leaving smell of salt in my nose. The sand I was sitting in was warm from the sun, feeling like that cozy quilt grandma made for me years ago.
So yeah, today was an amazing day.

With Love,

Part 2 of 4 of four works I did for an emulation portfolio. This poem is an emulation of the style from Rachel Knudsen’s “How to Enter the Ocean.” This is an example of a postcard poem. The link to the image can be found at I do not own this image and it is being used under free use law.
Chris Bee Sep 15
Because you sang to me when I could not sleep; because you held me when I needed it; because of the years of laughing and crying and other lovely and terrible emotions I see in the lines etched in your face; because you never once held me back, never once doubted me or my own path; because you never let all of the painful moments and mistakes I had pass without showing me what God wanted to teach me; because you accept my flaws, accept my needs, and push me to realize I am worthy of love and happiness; because you gave me the strong belief system that I rely on daily; because you showed me what a healthy family is, striking the dream of growing my own one day into my heart; & because you are my mom and dad; one I share your namesake, the other made me your spittin' image, and when I hear my name, or see my image in the mirror, I can't help but feel you close to me, and no matter the distance, I feel you holding me when I need it, and hear you singing to me when I cannot sleep.
Part 1 of 4 of four works I did for an emulation portfolio. This poem is an emulation of the style from Samuel Green’s “Some Reasons.”
Chris Bee Jan 2020
You entered my life
in a time where I believed
that I wasn't worth much.
Not only did you show me
true companionship,
but you also made me truly believe
that life would be alright.

It's crazy that we used to be strangers
who just kinda knew the same people.
Now, after three years,
We see each other every single day.
Not because we go to school together,
or work together,
but for the simple fact that we choose to.

And it hurts me so much to say,
but I need to cut you out of my life.
I am sitting here, at five in the morning,
tearing up
because I know that I can't help but
be deeply
and madly
in love with you.

But I know you need a friend;
someone who isn't trying to use you
or tie you down.
You need a platonic relationship, now more than ever.
Someone who you can hang out with.
Someone who you can laugh with.
Someone who you can listen to music with.

So for your sake,
I will stand my ground,
and let my heart silently burn away,
so that you may one day be okay again.
Chris Bee May 2019
I want to escape

My skin is a prison that I want to escape;
I know there is nothing underneath the flesh and bones I call mine,
but I can FEEL my essence angrily churning,
begging for release of this existence.

I want to escape

The flesh I occupy feels like a punishment
bestowed upon me for not being worthy of being truly free
by God who knows the tortment I wish
on those who are innocent.

I want to escape

The prison of meat I call mine was designed by a being
who isn't limited by one himself.
My flesh burns,
as my soul rejects it.

I want to escape

Can Father hear how
his creation screams inside the neat little prison
he made for me?

I want to escape

Can Father forgive me
for cutting into the walls of this prison
he made for me?

I want to escape

Can Father let me out
of this nightmare of a prison that
he made for me?

I want to escape
I want to escape
I want to escape.
Chris Bee Jun 2018
You can't torture me anymore!

I have escaped your grasp!

With a knife in one hand,

and gauze in the other,

I have prepared myself for my

last stand
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