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Apr 15 · 128
the accessible muse
Madison Apr 15
I think I should quit
Writing about the men
Who will never love me.

Why do I never
Write about a man
Who stands
Right in front of me?

Maybe I'm scared --
Of his dead-sea eyes
Of his wild, scraggly hairs.

Of his mind --
How he loves to search and sleuth
And read.
That he'll fall in love with my work
Peer inside my pages
And see, suddenly.

That, maybe one day
He'll read these words
And say, "Hey!
This is me
Me, me!"

Oh, then
I think that I would die!

Maybe it's because
I've believed his funny folly, --
He's spoken to me
Said, "Girl,
You write to escape."

And how can you escape
By tumbling inside
Of something you can see
With your eyes open wide?

Maybe it's because he's already here
The accessible muse.
Maybe it's because, when I move my pen
I feel it is guided
By his steely blues.

Maybe it's better
When I write
For the men who aren't there.

Because I know
If they stumbled upon my words
They'd simply say, "Oh,
What do I care?"
Apr 15 · 221
how to love a black hole
Madison Apr 15
I don't know you, --
That's the cold, sad fact, --
And most days
I suspect there isn't much to know.

I know this
Because I know how it feels to love you.

Because loving you
Is like looking out the window
Into the street
When it's far too late
And even the hoodlums are asleep.
Loving you
Is like looking into the street
At midnight
When everyone's asleep
And it isn't raining.
The wind just blows uselessly
Rustling leaves
Reminding you that you can still breathe.

Loving you
Is like looking out the window at midnight
And walking away
Only feeling that you need to go to sleep
Because all the world around you seems dead.

Because loving you
Is like watching a show
Where all the actors have perfected their craft
And love to wear masks.
Loving you
Is like going to watch a show
That you know you've seen a million times.
The actors could convince you that they were working themselves to the very bone
And all you'd want
Is to doze off in the theater's cushioned velvet seats.

Loving you
Is like seeing a play
That's so ****** familiar
It makes you sick to think of watching it again
And yet
You'll never know how it feels
To watch it from backstage --
Not that you'd ever want to.

Because loving you
Is like loving the void, --
A black hole, that sits and swallows up everything
At your dinner table.
You'll say that you hate it
Curse its name as it ***** up
Your beef roast
Your silverware
Your fine china
Begging for dessert
Just before it latches on to your arm.
But deep down, you know
You'll just keep feeding it
Mindlessly tossing useless solutions in its direction
To satiate its beastly appetite.

You'll hurl things at it
With ferocious anger
Sneer
At its revolting belch.
"Don't ask me for anything else," you'll mumble as you skulk away
Only to press the reset button
And start setting the table
For the next day.

But I'll never think any of these things
Because loving you
Is looking as deep as you can
And finding...
Nothing.
Nothing!
Nothing...

Truly
Loving you
Is like loving a black hole.
I'm done writing about what doesn't matter.

Enjoy the truth
Feb 28 · 276
ban me! burn me!
Madison Feb 28
Ban me!

Burn me!

I, literature, can speak to you.


Love me!

Hate me!

I, art, can scream it, too.


Buy me!

Don't play me!

I, music, hide my meaning in shadows.


I'm not a martyr!

Don't hurt me!


...He, the artist, is sent to the gallows.
Feb 28 · 128
purgatory, USA
Madison Feb 28
Every day

Is Judgement Day

Here in Purgatory

Where we weave

The End Times

Into our bedtime stories.


We stake claim

On what is ours

Sign our name

Cross our T's.


We seek approval

From higher-ups

Yet care not

About earthly kids

Or the lives of trees.


You see, though we're large

We care about the little things.

That's what makes us pure.


Should you tell us otherwise

We'll let you burn below

For sure.
Madison Feb 16
He has a siren's scream

And angel hair

And the devil himself

Sometimes takes up residence in his eyes.


He makes your heart skip a beat

When he waxes poetic about death

And the smoke from his lips

Makes you feel alive.


You love the way

That his voice breaks

And, in his desert of broken things

You'll see the mirage of your strength.


The art that he makes

Is your perfect opportunity

A chance to make his viscera

All soft around the edges.


Let him sing like Cobain.

You'll take that song

Turn it into something

That sounds like Plath.


And you'll beg for those songs

But he won't ever ask for the poems.

The most that he notices

Is that you pity him

When he cries.


He'll bring worry to your pen

And love to your heart

Leave you thanking the heavens

For bringing you a muse

That feels just as much as a girl

Even if it makes you cry

When he leaves you alone.


The curse of the muse:

To you, "can't save him"

Will never sound quite right.
Feb 16 · 650
if she is hungry...
Madison Feb 16
If she is hungry

Then we'll let her starve

For longing

Is a beautiful expression

On the face of a pretty, young girl.


If she is cold

We'll wrap her in white

Over her paper-doll arms

Dancing-girl legs

Porcelain-baby face.


We'll spare her from mummification

By peeling away those first layers

Just to reveal more white, adorned underneath

Pure as ****** snow.


We'll never speak

Of those dark shadows

Over smooth, breakable skin, so fair

For we shall make a gentleman wonder

If she wears proudly her shadows

If she has on her pantyhose.


If she becomes yours

We'll show everyone

If only for a moment

Just what a prize you have won.

Such a lovely, hungry, pure, feminine face

Beneath that age-old veil.


But don't you worry, son!

As soon as you taste those wanting, red lips

You can lower that veil as you wish

Decide the form she shall take

As one who is yours

To feed, clothe, flaunt, hide

However you please.


But until then...


If she is hungry

We'll let her starve

Just to make her wait.
I listened to Tori Amos' "Mother" and put an... angrier, messier spin on the meaning of the lyrics.
Feb 16 · 648
not her.
Madison Feb 16
I'm not her.

Don't tell me that's not what you want me to be.

Even if it's true, I still see things in your eyes

For a moment, strange and wistful

Years younger

Then, brightly pain-filled

Once you're reminded of this here-and-now land

Where I, as you know me

Am the one you hold in your arms

And try your damndest to love.

I'm not her

And that is something I'm trying not only to accept

But embrace.

If that's something you can't do

Well, --

Stop embracing me.
guess who's back? :)

this poem is directed at one person in particular: me, myself, and i.
Nov 2018 · 150
on a limb
Madison Nov 2018
"Oh!

Tell me!

What is wrong with you?"

Well

I think that lightning

Struck somewhere

Caught my blood on fire

Bent my body

Like tree limbs.


"Oh!

Tell me!

What can I do?"

Well

I'm trying to put this fire out

With gallons of black tea.

Maybe you should just

Try to pick those fallen branches

Up off the ground

If you want to be a part

Of the disaster relief.


"Oh!

Tell me!

Why are you made of thunderstorms?"

Well

I'm thinking it's genetic

Or maybe the price I have to pay

For the tilting angle

Of my brain.

But don't you worry

About this sporadic bit of lightning.

After my hurricanes

Sunshine always comes.

Yes, it does.
Another contest entry
Nov 2018 · 187
kiss the bride
Madison Nov 2018
Pearls and curls and off-white lace

And my mind conjures up your sorrowful face

And my heart just toes the line.

Is my wedding day

Your Roman holiday?

Well, it sure as hell

Is mine.
Nov 2018 · 1.1k
schoolgirl crush
Madison Nov 2018
I look at you

And I melt

Like strawberry ice cream

Dropped on a black buckle shoe.

(And you make me cry

Just the same.)
Nov 2018 · 167
desert sands
Madison Nov 2018
On a midnight plain, these desert sands

Slip through her weeping, weathered hands.



And as every minute grain will pass

Her truths come apart like bits of glass

Everything she thinks she knows

Contorts and distorts

And slips away

When the north wind blows.



She thinks those northbound grains

Are hers to follow

And she chases them deep

Into a southbound hollow

And takes a selective handful

Only to remember

That winds bring change.



And she drops to her knees

But her northern eye sees

The winking-up caps

Of such a lovely

Mountain range.
Nov 2018 · 245
from miss emily's attic
Madison Nov 2018
A rose held captive

She caught that man, cut his stem

Turned upstairs into

A garden.
A short piece I did based off of the Faulkner story, A Rose for Emily.
Nov 2018 · 125
to follow?
Madison Nov 2018
The path leading the way

Has long since been carved

But the weight of the journey

Is not one that I wish to carry.
Madison Oct 2018
I am so sorry

That they've burned down your home

Left you standing upon barren ground

Cast stones through sacred things

They shouldn't have even touched.


I am so sorry

That this **** world

Uses fear as ammunition

Never paying mind

To how you must feel

When used as the target.


I am so sorry

That people have 'opinions'

About these tragedies

Even turning well-deserved eulogies

Into slippery slopes.


I am so sorry

There were people screaming

Just when you were trying

To rest.


And I am so hopeful

That you will reach such magnificent heights

That they will never understand.
My heart goes out to the victims of the massacre at The Tree of Life Synagogue in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, and everyone who was affected. Words can not express the pain and anger that come along with situations like these.

If you would like to support the synagogue and those affected by the massacre, please donate here:  

https://www.gofundme.com/tree-of-life-synagogue-shooting?pc=&rcid=r01-154068572309-160a2bed6a4044a3
Oct 2018 · 1.5k
painted tigress
Madison Oct 2018
With this brush in my hand

I paint new visions

New possibilities

New forms of escape.

It can not be denied

That I am an artist.


It's a tool

Not a weapon

A medium in which I have control

Complete autonomy

If only for the day.


It's not an advertisement.

No part of me is for sale

Now or ever.


I'm not being dishonest

By choosing how I present myself

Nor is it about you.

This reflection is artwork

Any interpretation is all your own.


It's all a product of my own liberty

And it runs much deeper

Than you might want to admit.


Within these simple brushstrokes, I run free

An untamed beast

With brightly-painted claws.



I am not caged

By the stripes that I create.
I feel there's a lot of stigma around makeup. Kind of silly, considering it's very much so an art form...
Oct 2018 · 136
set in stone
Madison Oct 2018
He is carved from marble

And I

The selfish sculptor

Want to dig into him

Like clay.


Everyone around me

Who sees my face

Hears my voice

Brushes my skin

Promptly speaks of ice

And yet, I swear

If he would just cast a ray in my direction

I'd be warmed all the way through.


I talk like obsidian

When really

Every bone

Every feeling that I have

Threatens to send me crumbling

Like porcelain.

The sickness in me

Leaves me aching for him to break me

And yet

He already has.


I want to pick his diamond brain

Pull it all apart

Plant a piece of myself

Where he won't notice it.


I want to cover him like paint

Piece all his parts together like a puzzle

Make him remix me like a song

Rearranging every inauthentic part

Until I'm just another one of his masterpieces.


...And I could write a million odes to him

In the ink of this cowardly weapon

And it would never change the fact

That his destiny's spoken for already.
I wanted to write a love poem that reads in a rather nightmarish, disjointed way? Did I succeed?
Oct 2018 · 2.7k
pre-birthday musings (one)
Madison Oct 2018
October 20, 2018


I've spent this year

Learning how to deal.

This isn't melodrama

Just the truth

Condensed into just a few words

To express a vastness

Guaranteed to fill a few pages.


Like all years, it's been bittersweet.

I've fallen down

Tripped up

Left a bruise

Quite a few times.

But, of course

You have to fall --

Maybe even bleed a little --

In order to teach yourself

The triumph

Of bringing yourself

Back to your feet.


I've stood in front of a lot of mirrors

Most of them metaphysical

Truly getting to know the girl

On the other side.

The more we talk

The more I like her.

She's a hot mess sometimes, sure

But she's kind of a cool person to have coffee with.

She doesn't look like she used to, not at all

Especially when she's obviously trying to do better.

She still chews her tongue a bit

When she admits that she's wrong

And she's so very shy

When I ask her what to do

And she responds:

"I don't know."

I should tell her that I love her

A lot more often this year.


I've found that the heart is a wonderfully strange instrument

And that the soul is not an *****

But is something very, very real.

I've found that the former

Is as good at persevering

As it is at making messes

And that the latter

Is something all-too-useful

In the modern world.


I've found that most friends are fairweather

And, often, so am I.

I still hold out hope

That, maybe one day

I'll discover loyalty

That can be truly permanent.


Lastly, I've found that poetry

Is a beautiful vessel

Worth so much more

Than worrying about boys

Through a series of rhymes.

It's quickfire, artful catharsis

Freeing a caged dove

With words that make me feel

As if I can make my writing soar.

It's filled to the brim with love

And laughter

And tears

And imagination

And anger

And fear

And reflection

Just like these passing years.


And with every one I finish

I long for many more.
Decided some introspection was in order before my birthday tomorrow. Perhaps this should become a yearly thing...
Madison Oct 2018
He stands next to me in the grocery aisle

A migrant from who-knows-where.

He's just like me, I suppose

An unknown guest

A visitor, with a scarcely-filled cart.

Perhaps I'd pay him no mind at all

If he didn't stand close enough to me

To at least be an acquaintance.

He lingers at my side

Too comfortable to be considered a newcomer.

I shuffle away, bag of flour in hand

Ensure that he is but a sojourner.

Later, though

He finds me in the checkout line

Eyes mysterious

Lips telling.

"Need any help with those bags?"

Brain frozen in discomfort, I shrug.

"Sure."

So we walk to the car

His hands on my bags

Mine on my keys

As we venture across the parking lot.

I pop the trunk

Wondering how I'd feel

If I had been helped by a female instead.

Still, I help this man

Try not to misjudge

As we silently put away my finds.

In my mind, however

I continue to evaluate and second guess

Not for the first time, I wonder:

"Is this kindly stranger friend or foe?"
Madison Oct 2018
There's something about the poets

That leaves them wakeful

At midnight... and thereafter.


Perhaps it's because the blackness

Speaks like artful despair

Pitch dark

With just enough silvery input

From the stars

To perhaps stir up some inspiration.


Perhaps it's the romantics' glimmer of hope

As they hold their drooping eyes open

Wishing for the constellations

To write their stories for them.


Perhaps it's that those who feel alone

Fall in love with the moon

And her solitary beauty

So they search for ways to sing her praises

Before going off to cast their own light.


Perhaps these are some of the reasons why

Poets retire late

And rise later

Drawing funny looks

From the disciplined.


Perhaps it's not quite crazy --

In fact, it's quite normal

When you zoom in on a world full of wordsmiths

Churning out art beneath a blanket of dark.

Because sleep is not our muse --

Night herself is.
Oct 2018 · 322
oh, coveted gift
Madison Oct 2018
Sometimes, it looks like lenience.

Small passes for big faux pas.


Many believe that it's absolution

Locking themselves in boxes periodically

To cry out, bleeding painful catharsis.


Some sneak it in with charity

Use compassion as a puppet in their mercy show

Throw underhanded in the name of grace.


Some offer it when they're bruised and broken

Spit out blood, then turn the other cheek.

Others give it away with full bellies and warm hands

Either out of purity

Or some nefarious need, pushed down deep.


And I wonder and wander all the while

For I am the fool

Who begs to receive

But can not give.
A prompt from my 'Write This Poem' book. Any guesses what 'it' is?
Oct 2018 · 1.2k
stella
Madison Oct 2018
You say I'm golden

I say, "that's a lie."

I'm sun-dappled at most

Yet you still smile

In the shadows of my light.

My bad moods loom, solstice

Too often, I ache for heat.

Still, you speak of my radiance

When I feel like a garish Vegas effigy.

In the end, though

I'll let your illusions be.

But, love

Even if you think I'm light's zenith

Being your star

Is enough for me.
Oct 2018 · 772
luna
Madison Oct 2018
You shine, just a crescent

And it pulls at my tide.

You wax and you wane

Every move leaves me hypnotized.

Smile and eyes glow quicksilver

Yank at the strings

Set my heart to overflow.

Gods in stars shine down

Smirking at the thought

Of things they already know.

You descend into shadow

Oh, love, don't be so shy!

I adore you so deeply

I swear

My heart breaks

When dusk says goodbye.
Oct 2018 · 2.6k
the 'issue' criteria
Madison Oct 2018
Not too tall --

Don't want him towering over me

Looking down on me

Humiliating me

In more ways than one.


Eyes should be dark --

Not pale.

Don't want them

Cold, empty, icy

Don't need

A shark-like gaze

To chill me to the bone.


Not too large --

Don't need him to tell me

Just how big and strong and intimidating he is

Can't have him saying

Outright or otherwise

That he could hold me

Or anyone else down.

What else are arms for?


Not too crude --

In fact, I just might want him to talk

Like a woman.

Don't get me wrong --

My vocabulary is colorful enough.

It would be hypocritical to rule out profanity.

But, as soon as you call me or her or him or this or that

'*****'

The bile will surely be climbing my throat.


Not too proud --

Yes, confidence is attractive

But conceit is certainly no match.

I don't care if he thinks he looks good --

I will most likely agree that he does --

But one who can not admit to his mistakes

Let alone answer for them

Is a frightening caricature of humanity.

I am so flawed, love

But my flaws are not the cause of yours.


Not too dense --

Anyone who reads this

Male, female, or other

And calls me a 'man hater'

Or asks what I would think of a man

If he wrote something like this about a woman

Should run along

For that is not what I'm saying

Not at all.


I know what I deserve

And it's just what everyone else should get.

I just believe

That 'do unto others'

Should not die

Once the ring is on the finger

Or the name is on the dotted line.

I just believe

That 'love' should not be bastardized

To mean an unconditional, everlasting loop of

'Whatever you want

Honey.'

Only give what you'd want to get

Only take what you know you need

No matter the giver.

Bestow and accept nothing less

And as much more

As you can manage.


Believe me

I'll keep doing the same

No matter what you say.
Oct 2018 · 353
anxiety - bitter snapshots
Madison Oct 2018
Funny how you call it 'dread'

Like it's a feeling

A fleeting little thing

Not synonymous with a condition.

Like it's what you feel

Before a big presentation --

You know, the fawn-like trembling in your legs

Before you step right up there

And own the whole thing

Without breaking a sweat.

Like it's just waiting on a text

About weekend plans

Biting your nails just a little bit

Taking a quick roller coaster ride

Up
            P!
U

D

o

w

n


Done.

Obviously, you don't understand.

Really, it's

Hiding out in the bathroom for hours

And sobbing in front of strangers

And shaking when you think someone might be looking at you

And fearing things you used to love

And constantly chewing at whatever skin's available

And feeling so **** sick

You just want to press a button

That sends your soul

Into a person

With a regular heartbeat and naivety you could drown in

Like you.

Clearly, it's not just a feeling.

It's life in shackles.
Happy (late) Mental Health Awareness Week! Here's a piece on some of my personal expierences.

Stay strong and take care of yourself.
Oct 2018 · 150
elegy: a lipogram
Madison Oct 2018
See the depressed deed

Delve deep

Cry, the elegy's creed.

Elsewhere:

Breeds new

Bzz-bees, elm trees, electric eels

Ever-steel freeze

Sweet revenge's creep, then screech

Wed, cheer, speech

Fresh breeze, meets seeds

Frees weeds.

Here:

Wet cheeks, we weep

Regret seeps

Need jeers.

Yes, we bleed

Yet

Every eye never sees

Every remedy. never felt

By the helpless.
Yes! Only e's, with the exception of the word 'electric.' Side note: isn't it ironic that the word 'lipogram' has three different vowels in it?
Sep 2018 · 124
seasonal tease
Madison Sep 2018
A hurricane blows in

Where is she?


The rain soaks through

Where is she?


The ground goes dry

Where is she?


The grass is gonna die

Where is she?


It's too humid to wear black

Where is she?


My allergies are back

Where is she?


The falling leaves are lazy

Where is she?


Mother Nature must be crazy

Where is she?


My birthday starts to near

Where is she?


Halloween's almost here

So where is she?


The hummingbirds decide to stay

Where is she?


My patience goes away

Where is she?


I think she's running late

Where is she?


Autumn, I really don't like to wait

Where are you?
It's still hot out.
Madison Sep 2018
Oh, Morning Glory Girl, I  love you so.

Little sunrise flower, more innocent

Than she knows, trying to soak up  the light

Of those gone gray, my sweet Morning Glory

Girl, her bright petals start shrinking away.


Oh, Morning Glory Girl, I hate you so.

Vegan vultures feed on your innocence

You bask in the attention of corrupt

Beaks. They do not love you, Morning Glory

Girl, they just want a meal, but you're starving

For that kind of love, so you're happily

Used, every little bloom, chewed up, spat back out.


Oh, Morning Glory Girl, I miss you so.

As midnight settles in, you're all but gone

Every petal, wasted away, all for

Naught. The vultures crow over your frail frame

And hot rage boils within my grieving veins.

By the light of the moon, I mourn and mourn.

How could you do this, Morning Glory Girl?

Such lovely petals, all given away

Only to be torn! You're nothing but stem

Vegan vulture food, nothing left to see.

Who would guess that such a lovely flower

Would become a beast like me? I must go

May both of us carry on, grow something

Brand new. But remember, Morning Glory

I will never forget who I once was

Such an innocent flower, just like you.

I'll smile for you with bitter insides, love.

Sincerely, this jaded, grieving nightbloom.
Blank verse and flowers. Pretty sure it's a successful combination.
Sep 2018 · 309
wilted rose lament
Madison Sep 2018
I used to love

Walking down memory lane

Until

My favorite roses

Began to wilt.

Now

The softest petals

Have withered away

Only to scratch me

With their vicious thorns

Whenever I walk by.

Yes, it’s hard to love memory lane

When every rose in your garden

Has found a way

To die.
Change can hurt, even when it's for the better.
Sep 2018 · 442
about a mosquito
Madison Sep 2018
Every time

You come near me

You kiss me

Then leave

Taking part of me

With you.
A little piece I did a few years back, before I actually started pursuing poetry seriously. It seems a little plain, but the subject matter makes it a bit humorous, I suppose.
Sep 2018 · 177
a scene from tragedy class
Madison Sep 2018
Maybe, sometime soon

They'll teach Tragedy in schools

Where our children go.


It'll bore them silly.

"Why, that happens every day!"

Heads on desks, they'll nap.


The teacher will sigh

Shaking her worry-filled head

She'll cry, "class dismissed!"


Students will file out

Skipping, chattering joyfully.

Teach heads home to drink.


They all look both ways

Caution sleeping within them.

Anything could happen.
Another linked poem. Not sure I'm proud of it.
Madison Sep 2018
In times of silence
Look around
And ask the generation before you
If they remember...

When 'tragedy' wasn't a part
Of our daily vocabularies
Tossed around as freely as 'love' or 'die.'

The first time they heard the royal court cackle
And tell the pawn just what he was
Unaware that they, too
Were just disposable pieces
Of a horribly trivial game.

The time when words meant something
Could often be trusted
Weren't just poker-faced masks
Placed ill-fittingly
Over a lifeblood of insincerity.

The very day when everything changed
Innocence and security withering away
Before falling down like autumn leaves
Left on the simmering ground
To turn black and rot.

The exact moment they learned
Nothing would ever be the same.

The quiet of the aftermath
When they wiped away tears
And pushed themselves into the warmth
Of a loved one's embrace.

When that dear loved one
Soothed them
With sickly sweet naivety
Assured them
That they wouldn't live through another war
That this world was too beautiful
To **** before knowing who was at fault
And the guilty world
Went silent again.

Then, to break the silence that comes after
Ask if they remember
The day you were born.
Sep 2018 · 476
sweet little agony
Madison Sep 2018
tw: blood

....

Here you are, dearest.

Take this scarlet part of me.

Quench that gnawing thirst.


It just stings a bit

A quick bite, then pure numbness

I close my eyes, calm.


You have me now, love

That part of me you wanted

Warms your still, cold veins.


More or less mortal

I swear, I don't mind one bit.

You are so worth it.


Eyes glowing crimson

You tell me you feel alive.

I smile, gratified.


You won't see me weep

For this loving sacrifice:

Forever sounds fine.
My first poem made up of separate haikus. Title from "Sweet, Sweet" by The Smashing Pumpkins.
Sep 2018 · 189
you gave me your spare halo
Madison Sep 2018
Begging on my knees

Forgiveness is elusive

Yet you are a saint.
Madison Sep 2018
Dying star burns bright

Familiar laughter stirring

My soul; we're still us.
It feels good to return to something familiar; even if it's been forever, even if it looks or sounds or feels different. With a little help from love, it will soothe the soul, just the same.
Madison Sep 2018
She's an anarchist

But she still follows the rules

Of writing haiku.
Sep 2018 · 1.5k
dig deep
Madison Sep 2018
I'm feeling quite neurotic, to put it plain.

My conscience is muddied, mind soaked through with rain.

Nothing feels right, no comfort will do.

Might dig myself a hole and stay there a day or two

Won't walk on the land, just admire the view.

There seems to be nothing that can make me feel sane

And yet, you dig deep, try to keep me sane.
Another assigned piece, this time to take a famous rhyming piece of writing and rewrite everything but the final, rhyming word. I used the first verse of Blind Melon's "No Rain."
Sep 2018 · 259
results may vary
Madison Sep 2018
The day that I might you

I caught a ferry

On the final day

Of February.

I moved along

Whistling, unwary

'Til you came across

Turned my cheeks red as cherries.

You moved as if floating

Light and airy

Skin glowing like the moon

Pale as dairy

Perfect pink lips

Sweet as a berry

I knew my heart would break

Were I to simply tarry.

So I asked you your name

As I felt was necessary

Then asked for a date

To which you agreed, merry.

And so we fell in love

Hearts fluttering like fairies

But permanence, we never spoke of

For, as you know

Results may vary.

That all changed the night

You opened a bottle of sherry

And asked, so matter-of-fact

If we might ever marry.

I felt myself turn pale

As the thought was scary.

I'm much too young to make a promise

I must keep 'til I'm buried!

Alas, I wound up here

Looking down the aisle, wary

While your relatives glow

Like the ****** Mary.

Today begins forever.

Are my feet cold?

Very!

But, when loving someone like you

These things might be necessary.

So I await the go-ahead

From good Preacher Jerry

Before I kiss those lips

Still as sweet as berries.

You may be thinking

I've gotten myself into a situation, quite hairy

But love itself is a risk

And after all

Results may vary.
A challenge I set for myself to see how far I could go with homophones. I think it worked?
Sep 2018 · 1.7k
dirty wings.
Madison Sep 2018
I grow sicker

Day by day

As I realize:

Where I once saw a monster

I now see a man.    

("See?

I'm just like you.")

It grows more apparent

Each day I'm by your side

Close enough to see into the soul

I didn't think you had.

("I'm not so bad

After all.")

Don't get me wrong

There's not much there.

While my insides wither

I can see that yours

Are already cold and dead.

Empty.

("Come on, my dear.

Make me feel alive.")

Even when you hurt me

I find myself searching

Seeing right through you.

You break me down

While you're in shambles

Reducing both of us to ruins.

("No!

Don't you dare cry!")

But it's all too clear

In those rare moments

Of misplaced tenderness

That, maybe once

You might have known how to love.

("Hey, angel

Where's your halo?")

Sometimes

In the dead of night

When you're still and serene

I try holding you

Lightly tracing all the lines of your face

Wondering who made you this way.

("Shhh...")

Sometimes

I even wonder

If, because of the way things are going now

I might turn out like you one day.

("Don't look so scared.

You know you're okay.")

So I listen to you breathe

And I watch you dream

And sometimes I swear I hear a sob

And my insides cave in when I realize it's not mine.

("Oh, angel...")

I just wish someone loved you

Before you met me

So that maybe --

Just maybe --

We could both be alright

Maybe even meet

Under much better circumstances.

("Shhh...

Angel...")

And, even when you destroy me

I wish that

Somehow

I could love you.

("Please

Don't cry.")

It makes me sicker

Day by day

That I fall back into the arms

Time and time again

Of a monster

Who was once

A man.

("You know you're safe with me

Right?")
Song title and partial inspiration from the Nirvana song, "Polly."

I wanted to take a look at Stockholm Syndrome within a poem. I really hope I did a good job of portraying it accurately.
Sep 2018 · 876
heatwave
Madison Sep 2018
If you don't mind it, love

I believe I must ask:

Why is it that

Even when Summer begins to die

This heat never seems to fade away, too?

Solstice is bleeding out in the streets every night

Those fallen leaves, shielding her body

And yet, here in September

I'm still drunk on that brand-new sunshine

That makes me want to lie down with you.

I wish you and I could find a cold place

A secret pathway into Autumn's sweetly perfumed arms

But, love, if that's not happening

Perhaps we should go where the sun shines brightest

And revel in a halo of blistering light.

Perhaps we could peel away

All the formality

Just to keep cool

Every layer of reserve

Long gone by the end of the day.

Of course

You'll see every imperfection

And I'll know it

But I won't mind

As long as each one gets attention from your fingertips.

I'll find Spring in your skin

And you'll taste Winter on my lips

And Summer and her fatal fever

Will be no match for us.

In fact, we'll barely feel her harsh kiss

Streaming through the window

Into our little room

Where everything feels just right.

So, if you don't mind it, love

I believe that you should follow me into this retreat

Where we can embrace this heatwave.
Why is it so hot on Labor Day?
Sep 2018 · 730
moon-struck
Madison Sep 2018
In backs of cars

Lips form stars

And then

Entire constellations.

You burn bright

Blinking satellite

And disrupt

My concentration.

Your hands cast light

Bleed through the night

And the sun himself

Envies you.

Galaxies swoon

And you're loved by the moon

But she doesn't want you as badly

As I do.

Under this black sky

My stars die

And my heart cries

Out for more.

You have me moon-struck

Guess that's my luck

Just like the planets' alignments

Swore.
Another writing exercise, this time in focused imagery.
Sep 2018 · 253
the silent record
Madison Sep 2018
Still, without the touch of the needle

The silent record sits in wait.

Line after line of etched in melody

Worn, -- even abused

Scarred and scraped

A scratch here

Some dust there

Replayed, again and again

Black vinyl, once heavy, worn thin

Only to be abandoned on the turntable

Where it once served its purpose.

Neglected, unused

The silent record stays still

Hoping to one day turn again.
For a workshop exercise on imagism, in which I had to create a 'portrait' of an object. I picked a record, of course.
Aug 2018 · 550
sunday morning in the alley
Madison Aug 2018
Staring to the heavens above

Two poor kids release turtledoves.

Smiling silent implications

Of lifelong adoration

There's no denying, the two are in love.
I asked my family for words to base limericks off of. My mother's contribution: adoration. Hope you enjoyed!
Aug 2018 · 325
ouch!
Madison Aug 2018
There once was a man, so unkind

Who was constantly lost in his mind.

It was a laugh when the dolt

Startled with a jolt

The day that karma bit his behind.
Aug 2018 · 3.1k
suck it up and fix it.
Madison Aug 2018
Staying still
I try to drain
Every last
Little drop.
Tilting back, I
Grip the neck but
Don't break it, God forbid
I'm in no shape to clean up a mess
Though I'm an expert at making them,
I tell you what, I hate the television, all
those shiny happy people like in that
song I don't know the words to, but it's
obviously true, watching these shiny
happy lives with all of these beautiful
people who are probably **** on the
inside, just like me, going home to sit
in their expensive new recliners and
grip the neck but don't break it, don't
make a mess that you can't clean up
drain every last drop even if you don't
really want it, 'cause it used to make
you feel much better, and now it's just
routine, like brushing your teeth and
trying to sleep and telling old friends
that you're fine, fine, just tired, so very
tired and I'm trying to stare through the
television to see these stupid phonies at
home in their own chairs, drinking from
a bottle like this one as if it might save
their sorry lives, like I'm trying to do
right now, tilting it back for just one
more drop, ****** there is no more
and I'm not done drinking but the neck
is slipping from my hands and I'm trying
to drink it down, **** it up when I let go
of the neck and drop it and there is a mess
for me to clean up, I tell you what, all that
broken glass and those elusive little drops
that could've made everything so much better,
could've fixed me but oh well, guess I can't
watch TV anymore, 'cause I've got a mess to
try to clean up right now, yes siree, guess
that even the shiny happy people have to
**** it up and fix it every now and then
just like me and you and everyone else.
My first attempt at shape poetry. Probably messed up a bit, but oh well.
Aug 2018 · 12.8k
my eye's the limit
Madison Aug 2018
Just when I think

I've known the world

I come to the realization

That I've only seen it

Through my own two eyes.

It eats at me

Though I shouldn't be bothered

And yet

I can't help but wonder why.

What do strangers see

When they watch my favorite film

And what do they hear

In their favorite songs?

What do others girl feel

When they knowingly fall in love

With someone

Who's stringing them along?

What do my parents know

When they look at the roads

They've walked down

Many more times than I?

What do babies think

When the world's so unknown

And they can only use their voices

To cry?

Where is the truth

In others' opinions

So very different from mine?

Where lies the inspiration

Of other writers

As they steadily type

Each line?

In the end

There's not much of a point

Unless reincarnation exists.

But frustration prevails

Knowing my eye's the limit

And my curiosity

You see

Persists.
Aug 2018 · 179
inbetween-ish
Madison Aug 2018
My love is inbetween-ish

And beautiful in the most magnificent of ways.

Made up of porcelain skin

With a glow that further brightens the break of day

A heart that beats

To the tune of my favorite song

At the touching of lips

Bright eyes

That speak millions of beautiful words

And a name

With a thousand lovely meanings.

My love is inbetween-ish

And between us

There is nothing but love.
Aug 2018 · 1.6k
he was rain
Madison Aug 2018
He was rain

The spray that came

On a scorching summer day.

He fell from his cloud

Without warning

Kissed the Flickering Flame into submission

All the while, saving a few sweet drops

Just for me.

He was the rain

That kissed the Flame and I.



He was rain

Leaving the Flame and I in wait

To see him on another day.

We danced for him

Inviting him to play

As we spun in each other's arms.

Finally, he joined us

The Flame and I jumped for joy

First side-by-side

Then miles apart.

He was the rain

That made the Flame blush

And set my selfish soul ablaze.


He was rain

Standing between the Flame and I

On any given day.

He soothed the new burns

Marring my skin

Though he always feared

He would put out the Flame.

He was the rain

That loved the Flame

While the both of them

Left me parched.


He was rain

A hurricane

Washing me away from the Flame.

The two of them laughed

Oblivious

And told me to swim

As I began to drown.

He was the rain

Who ran away with the Flame

Just when I thought

They could both be mine.


He was rain

And he slipped away

On a sunny winter's day.

The Flame left, too

Without a note

Left the heart within me

High, dry, and cold

Nothing there to set on fire

Or to give hope.

He was the rain

Who disappeared with the flame

Leaving me all alone.


Now, on this day

I float in a fog.

Floods on one side

On the other, burnt smaug.

I know who I am

And I'm here to stay.

I just wish that the Flame

Didn't take my rain boy away.

Still, he is the rain

Who is in love with the Flame

And I wonder

If he thinks about dry Earth like me

At all.


He is the rain

A fool for the Flame

Just like I was

All along.
A piece I did for a poetry contest about rain.
Aug 2018 · 233
skip.
Madison Aug 2018
I press play

And the first song that comes on

Is one that you love.

Skip.

Wouldn't you know it

The next track

Is the one that played in the background

When we first met.

Skip.

Up next is a favorite of yours

That I can't hear

Over the imaginary you in my head

Singing along.

Skip.

Hey, what a coincidence!

The next three

Were all on the mix I made you

That you never got to hear.

Skipskipskip.

The one after that is just fine

Except, oh

Did it mention a wolf?

Funny

That reminds me of you

Dressed in sheepskin.

Skip!

Oh, you hated this one!

But, wait

You thought it was so funny

That I liked it.

Ha ha ha

S k i p.

Here's a new one

That I never got to recommend to you

But it rubs salt in the wound

When I apply the words

To me and you.

S

K

I

P

!

!

!

...

I press skip

And the next song that comes on

Is one that you love

But!

I loved it first

Before I knew your name

Or what songs you listened to

Or of your place

As a tiny speck

On this big, big planet.

Yes, you love this song

But I did, too

Probably before you loved it

And definitely before I knew-loved-hated you.

How can I ever find joy again

If you're constantly there

A trace of you everywhere you're not

A ghost that keeps pressing

Pause?

How will I ever rid the music of such tainting memories

If I don't try making new ones

Of my own?

You loved this song

I love this song

And I press

Play.
Heard you say

Not today.
Aug 2018 · 960
hummingbird
Madison Aug 2018
Little hummingbird

Wings aflutter, heart a-patter, drink

From that sweet flower.
Madison Aug 2018
He fell from heavens high

Back down to this miserable Earth

All in the interest of loving me.

He was a guardian

So pure of soul

But all I saw

Were his wings.

He promised to protect me

And kept his word

Treating me better than anyone had

In a very long time.

He lived a second time just for me

Always there to rescue his favorite broken soul.

He was the one

To drag me out of dark alleys

Take the bottle from my hands

Tell me who not to call back

Place a hand on my heart

Just when I thought I couldn't feel anything good anymore.

He danced with me to my favorite records

Taught me how to laugh again

Sang me to sleep

Offered the gentlest kiss

Without asking for anything more.

He pried me open

To see into my soul.

I found true desire

In staring at his wings.

As the days passed

Disenchantment crept back in.

Finally, I asked him

What it was like to fly.

He smiled at me

So beautifully otherworldly

And told me that

As long as I was there with him

He wouldn't dream of doing it again.

It was then that I asked him the million dollar question:

"If you don't want to fly again

Would you mind giving just one of your feathers to me?"

He stayed silent for a while

Considering

Before he reached out

And tore a single sparkling plume

From one lovely white wing.

He dropped it into my outstretched palm

Before meeting my gaze

With watering eyes.

"My love," he said.

"Never doubt that I am yours."

For a while

That one feather was all that I needed.

Alas, like all things

The passing of days

Dulled its shine.

A few nights later

I asked my angel for another

Sure he wouldn't mind.

"Please," I begged.

"Just one more."

He hesitated for only a moment

Before plucking out another.

With a smile

I took it from him

To join the previous one.

There was a sick thrill

In seeing them side-by-side

One for him

One for me.

Of course

Two wasn't good enough for long.

I plead to him on one of my hopeless nights

Dropping to my knees

Choking on tears.

"Please," I said once more.

"If you really love me, do this for me. Give me more of you."

His own eyes glistening

He ripped out a handful of glittering ivory

Shoving them into my hands.

I barely even heard his groan of agony

Over my own cries of anguish.

As my collection of feathers grew

Along with my longing for more

I hardly noticed my angel grow gaunt

Glowing skin going dull gray

Radiant smile fading away

Retreating into himself

As I stripped him

Of the badge that stated his purpose.

He gave and gave

And I took and took

Never offering anything back

Never worrying

Figuring that this --

Making me happy --

Was his job.

Not once did it occur to me

That every small sacrifice caused him so much pain

That I had changed him from a guardian angel

To a caged, flightless bird.

So I never pressed him.

Besides

How do you ask someone

If they're tearing themselves apart

To give you a piece of them?

I didn't expect it

When my angel fell into my arms

The light already leaving his beautiful eyes.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered.

"But I have to go now.

Please take care of yourself when I'm gone.

And, when you look at the feathers

Think of me."

The least I could do

Was hold him

As he faded away.

Now, I walk this miserable world alone

Two angel feathers

Hanging from my neck.

I stay away from dark alleys

Seek solace in the bottle

Screen every call

Clutch a hand to my chest

Wishing my heart would freeze back over.

I've put away the records I once loved

Muted my laugh

Let every tear dry on its own

Stay up all night

Blaming myself

Vowing to never let anyone kiss these selfish lips again.

Now, I fall to my knees

Pleading with the heavens

To let him come back to me

Save me again

Reclaim the things I took from him.

Oh, angel

Please don't do this for your next girl.
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