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Hannah Christina Feb 2020
Her manicured leaves and thirsty rainbow faces always deliver
but she envies the daisy in the sidewalk.
Personification all day long.

For me, putting on appearances has more to do with forced behavior than appearances themselves, which is the real contrast between the characters here.  I don't want to propagate "I'm not like other girls" kinds of thinking.
There's  nothing wrong with having conventional interests or appearance when you're genuine about it.
Hannah Christina Jul 2018
Having the sudden urge to hug someone, but restraining yourself because you don't know hour they would react.
Making this series a thing, introducing feelings and defining the by the scenarios they come from.  I'm in between using loquacious dictionary language and putting things simply.
Hannah Christina Jul 2018
The uncomfortable triumph that comes from being brave enough to admit that you're scared
I had that moment today, and I was so close to giving in and letting fear make my choice.
Hannah Christina Nov 2019
Sea of rubber, storm of rock
Ponder endless, mudslide thoughts
Never,
      never,
           never        
stops
    Until I
cannot see

Batter, torment, carry, pour
Solid things are shifting shores
    Until
I cannot hear

Sighs are monsters, out from under
Mud is made of every mutter
Thunder fades into more thunder
    Avalanche demands

All of what you thought was peace
deserts to deserts underseas
the grains of sand
climb past  your knees

    and now i cannot think

I used to hide from walls of rock
  or shrink into a corner;
    
    at least
cement
    is solid set
I forgot about this one and completely re-wrote it today and I had the best time playing with the structure and sounds.
Hannah Christina Jun 2019
It's like I dance with each of you, but only pantomime
You answer back my sentences, but in familiar rhyme.

My hands will follow yours around, but never really touch.
A slice of air will keep us safe, or else a silken glove.

From time to time, our fingers brush, I'll even hold your hands
Discussions of those moments sweet are whispered, maybe banned.

My chest, it yearns, my heart so turns
within me; hollow, sore.
And yet the fear so claims me I may never ask for more.
Interpretations and feedback are appreciated!  Thank you for reading.
Hannah Christina Aug 2019
courage is not what they think it is.

courage is desperate and shrieking and shattered in one thousand places,

the final threads that should have snapped long ago.
Hannah Christina Dec 2020
I gazed at her, the warrior woman,
standing on the hill
where crum'bling stones of castles made their home.
Her form against the solemn sky stood noble, tall and fierce;
tenacity bespake her ev'ry stride.

The clouds before her only served
to frame her fairer still;
through richly dark, they parted just enough
to filter drops of sunlight to where she stood like the moon;
an argent gleam shone in her mane and eyes.

I frowned at her from where I hunched,
longed for her iron will,
clawed my lackluster hair and tore my heart.
The flat grey fog above the hole where I shrank in the dust
had only seen me cower, curse, and cry.

As we prepared to march again
I struggled up the hill
in hopes that I could find what grace she knew.
I didn't know she was still there, her back against a rock;
I caught her eye and realized

she had been crying too.
Edited 3/1/21
Hannah Christina May 2018
Looking at myself I cannot see
The One who sees inside of me.
Stuck in my head I'm not aware
Of everyone
Out there
Who cares.
Hannah Christina Feb 2020
They're all doubled over in an aching belly laugh;
I can already smell the apple pie.
One of a bunch of two-liners I wrote for Poetry Class.
Hannah Christina Nov 2018
clean

so very clean



thank you.
Hannah Christina Jun 2018
Because a thing may seem cliche won't mean it isn't right.
Warm sunbeams, drumbeat thunder, and the clash of dark and light.
Or just because it's overused, don't say it can't be true.
Old words and phrases well describe my burning love for you.
Hannah Christina May 2018
The cold bites my nose
And the frost chills my lungs
And the wind is stinging my face.

But outside in this moment I'd rather be here than in any more comfortable place.
Hannah Christina Feb 2020
I won't relent.

I know what happened last time, but I'm
stronger now.  Don't
give me that!

I am not alone
and I
will not
relent.
.

But I
am getting tired. So
tired.
Again.
And it's barely even Tuesday.

I'll be
fine, I'll
do it, I'll
keep going and it all will be
great
in the end.

All I have to do is just... jh!
if I could just...
   just...
      if-
-I;,
  I need to just...

...j-h
              ...-
    ...!

.



But no, I
won't
relent.
Hannah Christina Jul 2018
Sometimes a voice in your head will tell you that you are a disappointment.  Look that thing in the eye and say, "You're a disappointment!"

Then realize that you are still shouting negative things at yourself in the mirror.  Second thought, don't.  Please don't take advice like this from me.
Poetry is ART.
Hannah Christina Aug 2018
Humans are so stupid.
Arrogant, disgusting, small-minded, selfish, pathetic mortals.



I think I might be one.





That would explain a lot.
Thanks for reading.

Maybe I'll make a series as a way to label my poems in this style?

PS I need advice on titles!  I don't like them.
Hannah Christina Jun 2019
I'm tired of halfway-grasping, nearly clasping greatness whole.
And yet I know though incomplete I still enjoy life full.
Hannah Christina Sep 2018
There's
a
rhythm inside me that I want  craft fire to
But I never can keep up with the ticking clock

There's

a
wall that obstructs my view I want to see higher yet
What if I climb until I find out I don't like what's at the top?

One day I'll step out of line and ignore the warden who drags me back
I'll climb the tree next to the wall and dance along the top
But for now each day pulls me in a struggle unyielding
It would be a dance if my mind could process all that keeps proceeding

If I could pause it for a beat perhaps I could find my feet
But the game gets faster while I just get more confused.

I suppose I'll get used to it.  Will it always be this way?
and does it feel the same somehow to everybody else?
I want to dance perfectly
impeccably,
beautifully
in a way that's new and full of life and my own very soul

but head down I keep dozing to miss out on the pain and I shut my eyes
Squint over the wall's holes.
Thank you sincerely for reading.

Oh, and I think I'll mention that the idiosyncrasies in rhythm and rhyming scheme were intentional.
Hannah Christina Dec 2018
Pacing
Floating
Detached
Bouncing off of walls
Turning cartwheels and then passing through the wall
Nothing to grasp but the anchor I ignore

Distracted wanderings
Bringing me nothing.
Why don't I land,
Why can't I stop?
Hannah Christina Jul 2019
driftwood on the surf
the quaking of a feather
my unstable heart
haiku
Hannah Christina May 2018
be gin and it seems there is so much time left / pro ceed ing and speed ing much fast er a gain / craw ling and march ing the mo ments count down / the tick ing grows loud er the se cond hand 's shou ting and fas ter yet slo wly i'm fro zen a sleep / i'm thin king in slo mo time's spee ding and surg ing a round de com pos ing and what do i mean  ? what can i show for the min utes i'm was ting ? i need to be mov ing like there 's no time left / can i get some where make some thing be fore the end ? move me to trust you build some thing be cause I can 't / ev er y se cond i'm dying i need your breath /
Trying something a bit different than my usual form.
Edits made 5/27/18
Hannah Christina May 2018
Something is stirring inside me.
It urges me,
Surging through
Nagging me.
move, grow, fight, dance.
I miss the quiet and yet
I dread it.
Right now I can not **** nor calm this yearning
And yet I am afraid it will die a natural death before long.
Hannah Christina Jul 2020
blinking like a blade
of grass before a lake-storm
soft but not asleep
I'm working on a free verse poem that's giving me some trouble, so a short one is an enjoyable break.  Haikus are usually not my favorite to read.  They're a similar concept to 10w poems, but I find myself liking most 10w's better.  Maybe they're hard to do well, or maybe I just don't enjoy the form.  When they're "traditional" in content (about nature and stuff,) they're usually bland.  When they're more emotion based about feelings, there's not much space for imagery or creativity, so they can sound flat and self-indulgent (to me anyway).  So when I find a haiku that I actually like, I love it all the more.

Even though I dislike most of the haiku poems I read (at least compared to other forms) I really enjoy writing them.  Short sentences and specific guidelines are therapeutic, and they force you to be extra creative.  The traditional focus on sensations is calming.

What are your thoughts on forms?  I like to hear how different readers and writers experience things.

There's a balance between writing what you like to write, writing what you would like to read, and communicating in a way that will be effective for your readers.   Or maybe the things you think about are entirely different.  Either way, I'd love to hear about it.
Fog
Hannah Christina May 2018
Fog
The enchanting, unearthly fog
overwhelms the parking lot
and my small romantic heart.
This drab field of concrete becomes
a magical fen
the place where epics and legends unfold.
My feet lift lightly through the damp
and I dance with the shadows
transformed by the mist into something
fantastical.
The street lamps beam fantastic eerie rays
in to my wonderland domain.
Am I a storyteller?
wanderer?
faerie?
I think I am the beloved of a great Lover,
pursued with gossamer dreams
and romanced by sacred light.
Hannah Christina May 2018
A shuddered sigh, then some hope inhaled.
A wince of distrust, yet a heart unveiled.
A cautious smile leaves a little too late.
And a hopeful look rises to the bait.
A tensed up brow begins to relax,
For peace and joy have been too long taxed.
Sorrow still lurks in the back of the mind,
But reluctantly it is left behind.
A cautious faith is restored anew
And I open myself
back up
to you.
Hannah Christina Jun 2020
“A veil!” someone shouted.  I remember the cry.  Agreement surged from gasping elders and wide-eyed youths alike.  The first man to move snatched a scarf from his startled daughter and threw it at me to wrap over your head.  He couldn’t imagine touching you himself.

We had to find a veil to cover your shining face.  We couldn’t have the people blinded.  Radiation, of course, must be contained.  We didn’t have anyone infected.  It stuck to your forehead at first, your sweat thick like the dew the cold morning after a thunderstorm.  Wrinkles whiskered as your face strained into expressions few mortals have had.

That mountain was saturated in every form of electromagnetic radiation and energies unknown. It bludgeons the heart.  Melts the eyes.  The people could not bear the sight of anyone who had come so close to such a power.  I think their hearts need a good bludgeoning.

The wind streaked your hair for a micro-eternity.  It retained the swept-up form for nearly an hour, though no one could tell once you put on the veil.  Have you touched it to see if it is still cold?

Your fingers—what was on them?  Smoke, or earth?  Melted stone?  Incinerated atmosphere? Pure carbon, black as the abyss and under nearly enough pressure to crystalize into diamonds rarer than hope? When you grabbed my arm with those fingers, I nearly screamed.  You left black marks everywhere.

What does the veil cover now?  It's edges are no longer like the cracks beneath Heaven's doors.  What is it you wish to hide?  Isn’t it time for this mask to be cleft by a seraph's sword?
This is one of my favorite things I've ever written.  I hope it's enjoyable to read as it was to write.  I started scribbling down lines for an exercise in poetry class, modified it into an assignment, and edited it a whole bunch.  I'm finally getting around to posting it now, but I'm too afraid to actually read it again.  I don't want to start doubting it and I don't want to work on it any more.
Hannah Christina Jun 2018
Some people claim that special intuition
to know another person's thoughts and mind.
I do not.

I did not read her like a book, so I read her like a poem.
Her words did not arrange a neat picture of who she was.
So I listened.
I felt
and I paused
straining to hear every moment.
Envisioning.
I reflected, then I listened some more.

I saw patterns repeated,
the strain
and the wince
and I tested hire they felt on my own face

After learning a bit of backstory I flipped back through
what she had said and let the context take effect.

I saw stanzas, couplets, and rhythm

I did not analyze,
I felt,
Hearing her song-story.

I might be wrong.  I might have projected too much of myself, or glanced over a detail.

I can not recite her story or show you her heart,
but I listened to her poem and that is all that I can do.
Hannah Christina Jun 2020
I am stamped with an image I can not comprehend.
10 word
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