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Sep 2018 · 90
First Kiss
Ophelia O Sep 2018
My first kiss was stolen
in kindergarten
when I turned
to respond to a question
his mouth met mine
and I learned
for the first time
that boys take
and we
are supposed
to give
Jan 2018 · 528
sun; our mother
Ophelia O Jan 2018
serendipity is summer
laying down with
siblings long forgot
they giggle as
their bodies
brush my skin
goosebumps greet them
together we look
to the mother
and wonder
naught
if she will
keep shining,
but instead
breathe the rebirth
of heavy life
and stretch
with our grassy kin
reaching
endlessly
for her salvation
me and the grass
Dec 2017 · 418
gatekeeper
Ophelia O Dec 2017
one day a bottle
won't be my gatekeeper
and I will find you

lover

with trusting

touch

replacing him on me
and I will think of you
inside, within me
Dec 2017 · 217
Night
Ophelia O Dec 2017
"It’s ok"

the sky reminds me

"You are small"

she scolds
moonlight caresses
my cheek

"You will grow"

stars fall
to burn away
my tears
Dec 2017 · 299
Petals
Ophelia O Dec 2017
"you are one of us"
the flowers whisper
No! Can't they see
I have pulled off
My petals?
To be bare
is without fear
of getting plucked
one by one
only to land on
"he loves me not"
I can't take
that plucking
again
no longer delicate
Dec 2017 · 632
Library
Ophelia O Dec 2017
I keep a library
small but not tiny
nearly filled to the brim
a million words within
I keep watch over them
a lonely archivist whose sin:
reading dusty texts whilst yearning
even with them burning
my skin
stop reading old texts
Dec 2017 · 1.0k
Please Put Gloves On
Ophelia O Dec 2017
Please put gloves on
before you touch me
grab them off the counter
plastic dripping yellow
wet from dishwashing
I don't mind
the creaking sound
of plastic trying to stick
to my skin
your touch is dangerous
too full of his memory
no longer can anyone
touch me
please put gloves on
to protect you
to protect me
I'm sorry
Ophelia O Nov 2017
we talked for hours every night
even after years we never did fight
too worried; what if her depression increases?
but pieces cannot pick up pieces
I tried to become a broom leaking glue
bits of me morphed into a cleanup tool
attempting to sweep those painful shards of you
never realizing you were stabbing me too
how am I happier without you?
Nov 2017 · 218
Old Age
Ophelia O Nov 2017
give me skin dried like leather
a tan burned into well-used bones
who creak predictions of bad weather

deep laughter lines that hide groans
and a smile that never sours
give me a back that aches
as I bend down to pick flowers

give me crinkled eyes that shine
when I look at your face
Old Age, treat me with grace
Nov 2017 · 166
Irrelevant
Ophelia O Nov 2017
These words won’t matter when I die
In this world are far better poets than I
A wish beyond death is not worth my fret
To care too much is it’s own punishment
Nov 2017 · 558
yellow nights and bluebells
Ophelia O Nov 2017
yellow nights and bluebells
puddles of water, deeper pools than
the constant lake we muddled through
sunbeams always as bright as possible
torrential downpours of Zeus’s callings
ever enchanted we watch as she follows

curiosity growing;
a wiggle in the wet!

an earthquake of micro proportions
she, a young god, watches diligent
blank features, and the anticipation-
He’s here; creeping along, thick fingers reflect
drops of water and mud encasing small paws
Grabbed!

He is here
but not for long, she
a shriek of young birdsong
reverberates loud enough to break
the melody of a rainy afternoon
each drop sings
remembering childhood
Ophelia O Nov 2017
i'm going to collect your words
put them all in a tub
watch them stick to wet skin
swirl as i begin to rub

oh words, dear friend
it hurts to feel you again
maybe if i soak in here long
my head, you'll finally sink in
Nov 2017 · 1.3k
her fingers
Ophelia O Nov 2017
There! In the shadows, she watches
breaking hushed tranquility that shades
my eucalyptus
on a morningbeige wall

the Tingle, it’s here. a sense
of unease as she climbs my;
nick! and imports her touch. Lick
up my arms, fingers unwelcomely
running through my head
she is in my scalp   

itching imprint stays, echoing off
tired skin. ruining tender visions
of whispering
eclipse filled daynight

Perhaps
they came together;
in shallow memories of dark
Chicago forbid my viewing

She’s here now. watch
wild fingers grabbing lapping  
trees, ******* up their marrow
Creeping; burrowed in cold breeze
on my quiet 73 degrees
afternoon willow

her hands touch without touch,
eyes catch moments of them
past dusk, aching sunlight echoes
more distantly down time’s dust

each day she; the moon comes
closer and colder I see her
fingers, lustly peek out behind
looming, that chipped orb

the encompassing force was all;
no shades protected
retinas burned, she is here!
behind my eyes

her fingers

to close my eyes is to touch her
her ***** nails
they would drag me
I feel her

— The End —