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Jan 2017 · 381
rebecca Jan 2017
This is
a cattle nation,
an endless sea of
black and white
floating perpetually towards
a smudged horizon,
grey and faded and
seemingly farther away with
each step.

I feel confined in this world of
flat-irons and resumes
and the words
and the people who say the words
but really mean something else,
expecting me to speak in the same
cookie-cutter sentences and
plan out a logical progression of mundanity
to cloak myself behind,
placing my footsteps carefully
in the molding
that was set by the infinite
faceless people that trudged on
before me.

There is no fork in this path,
no place where it splits into
two strips of gravel,
but there is grass on either side,
waist-high and swaying rhythmically
in the breeze;
I step out of my molding,
out of my cloak
and there is mud soaking my feet,
grass grazing my bare knees
and I can see music
and hear color.
I look at the black and white creatures
who can see only shapes and shades
and their grey destination
and I turn around.

I feel free in this world of
choices and serenity,
allowing my feet to lead me
to where the tall grass
meets a pond;
my body caked in dirt,
my hair loose and curly,
my lungs full of air.
The wind whispers fervently,
words unlike
anything I have ever heard
telling me of that feeling
between hiccup-sobs
and moving on,
between being tied down
and pulling away,
reminding me of the
moments of calm and
moments of chaos that
eventually led me


Staring into the reflection in the pond,
where the transparency meets
the slow ripples,
and I see


leading the way
to my new destination.
Aug 2016 · 2.6k
our love wasn't equal
rebecca Aug 2016
at least all 
seven billion of us
feel heartbreak,
the high frequency sound
that explodes inside us,

and then our hearts go 
on beating,
all seven billion of them.
Aug 2015 · 972
So much figurative language
rebecca Aug 2015
My life is a
paradox of
gasping for air
and choking
between the breaths.
When will I ever be able to
poke my head out of this constant vacuum?
Just to fill my lungs with crisp air,
and savor it.
Aug 2015 · 482
Knights of the Round Table
rebecca Aug 2015
At the back of the library
sits a dejected round table,
its legs shaky,
wood dulled after years of
seating outcasts.
This is my table.

In the middle of the library
sit a few rectangular tables,
filled with the kids who belong.
I watch their mouths move,
their eyes dancing,
dancing away from my gaze.

The walk to the round table is one of
"wish you could be us."

And I see him,
sitting at the edge of a rectangular table.

My legs become like that of my table's:
shaky, knees weak.

I'm accustomed to admiring from a distance,
but I want to grow accustomed to his diction,
how he talks to me with a "this is temporary"
and to them with a "this is better;"
his imagery,
the lopsided smile that grows wide when he
talks to the brunette on the track team;
his theme,
his purpose,
his everything.

But who am I?
Hunched over a book,
a knight at the round table.
A piece of prose turned "poetry."
rebecca Aug 2015
A Beast shakes me awake.

I am lying next to you,
and I watch your chest slowly
your soft breaths even
except for
the occasional sharp inhale;

A Beast  tilts my head the other way.

I am staring into empty space,
but soon enough my brain recreates
my cacophony of thoughts,
shredded wisps of what was and what
has yet to be.
A woman with honeysuckle skin
trails her finger along my jawline,
and I melt into her.
She is not you.

A Beast makes me look into your eyes.

You're awake now,
and your eyes glint with enigma;
They flicker with something unknown
before you look away.
You are not honeysuckle.
You are as sharp as each of your
pen strokes on paper,
crisp as a newly typed  narrative,
a Colossus of all that was
and all that has yet to be.

A Beast asks me if this is what I want.
He tells me he knows the answer.
Aug 2015 · 709
Mirrored Pools of Thought
rebecca Aug 2015
My life is spent  treading water,
trying to keep my chin high enough
to evade the water’s cool grasp
that  traces swirl patterns
along the side of my face
and beckons me to come under.

I kick my feet harder against the feathery current.

If I tilt my head
I can see the horizon,
a faded pencil line
sealing the corners of my vision,
grey and smudged from too many attempts
at erasing it.

My legs go slack.

My entire body submerges,
succumbing to the riptide.
It throws a dart at my head
and all the thoughts burst out :
I breathe them in and blow out bubbles.
They tell me to bid adieu.

I do,
I do.
His children’s feet pitter patter
and I hear their laughter,
mellifluous ha-ha’s coming straight
from their bellies.
An adieu is too harsh,
too grating against the mouth.  
So I murmur a soft auf wiedersehen
and let the water fold me into its embrace.
*tribute to Sylvia Plath
Jul 2014 · 4.7k
into the ocean
rebecca Jul 2014
sometimes I just want to
sink in the ocean,
with the rest of the stones,
and never surface.
Jul 2014 · 3.3k
rebecca Jul 2014
shut them out,
clog my ears,
I cannot listen.

the words,
they attack me,
choke me,
wedging themselves within my core.

I cry,
I scream,
I take those words as truth,
and drown as they push me,
past the deepest darkness.

but as I hold my breath,
I tell myself that
even though I may be a wounded gazelle,
I have the heart and will of a lion.

and somehow,
I poke my head out of
the web of pain.

though the words,
continue to float around my head,
taunting me,
prodding my nerves,
I remember that
I am a lion,
and I will perservere.
Jan 2014 · 582
rebecca Jan 2014
I could never understand,
why all the dolls I had
when I was little,
were so pretty.

they stared at me,
through glassy eyes,
eyes with the most
dazzling pigments.

their tiny dresses,
sewn by a few threads
and idealistic whims,
fit their skinny bodies perfectly,
exposing a carefully crafted figure.

their painted lips curled up,
into an everlasting smile,
and they seemed to mouth
'what is fat? what is imperfection?'

I also could never understand,
why all the girls wanted to be,
not just like the dolls,
but be a manifestation of those dolls.

do they want
to not have a single thought in their heads,
except the desire for perfection and admiration,
for people to think that they're beautiful?

do they want
to blink behind vacant eyes,
with lashes curled?

do they want,
to have constantly worry,
about having a fold of fat
on their skin?

there is a reason,
why dolls are unmoving.
they have to be controlled,
by a superior force,
guiding their actions.

is that who you want to be?

I can assure you, my friend,
I may not be a beauty queen,
and I may have some fat to my name,
but I am not a doll.

And I am **** proud.
Dec 2013 · 473
cloud nine
rebecca Dec 2013
in the middle of the meadow,
where the flowers sing,
and the sun smiles,
lays a girl,
who looks at the sky.
and she gets lost in her imagination,
staring at each cloud as they pass by.
but she can't find her cloud nine,
because it's not with the sun.
and as she smiles,
like a love struck idiot,
she realizes that he's the only thing
that keeps her from wishing to be
one with the sky.
Dec 2013 · 437
the product
rebecca Dec 2013
my mind tells me,
'why even bother?
you know you're going to fail,
like you do at everything else.
you're pathetic.
it's not worth trying,
if the outcome will always be the same:
you'll never be that person,
who you so desperately want to be.
you are not good enough.
you are merely the product
of your own and others' dissapointment.'

but my heart tells me,
'you know what?
you should bother.
always try,
put your heart and soul into everything,
even if it seems like a hopeless cause.
you can prevail,
because you're not the person
in your thoughts or dreams-
the one who you desire to be,
you are you,
a special person
who shouldn't strive to be
any more or less than what God has bestowed.
if you just keep moving,
having faith in yourself,
then you will be the product,
of your own satisfaction.'

who should I choose?
Dec 2013 · 676
I l o v e y o u
rebecca Dec 2013
I don't think
that you know
how much you really
mean to me.
so I'll just remind you now:

you are the reason why
I wake up every day,
with a smile on my face.
and I look forward to
the sunrise after each night,
when I can see you.

the sun can't compare
to the way you light up a room.
and even the stars-
the thousands of riveting constellations,
can't draw me away from you.

I honestly can't imagine
life without you.
the time period 'before you'
seems centuries ago,
like a whole other world-
a different lifetime.

now, I hope I didn't sound too cheesy,
or cliché in my ramblings,
but you deserved to have this poem
all for you,
so you can finally see,
that I don't take you for granted,
and I never will.

so I may not say this too often,
or if I do,
I could seem insincere,
but trust me this time,
and I swear this upon every star-
every piece of matter in the universe,
I  l o v e  y o u.
Dec 2013 · 440
wasted breaths
rebecca Dec 2013
even though
we were all created
to talk with our mouths,
I rely more on eyes
for the unspoken words
that can't be conveyed by
a few utterances that simply
roll off someone's tongue.

after all, words are merely
wasted breaths
without a meaning.
and wasted breaths,
caused by meaningless words,
are the result of the opening and closing
of a mouth.

they're not just
irises and pupils.
if you look hard enough,
they can be as vast as
an endless ocean.
and they can tell you things
that simply can't be spelled out
by any language.

you can also trust eyes.
mouths lie,
eyes can't.

so next time you see a person
who doesn't seem like they
found their voice,
just look into their eyes,
and find it for them.
Dec 2013 · 590
no inspiration
rebecca Dec 2013
I sit at my desk and take out
a new piece of paper,
with no creases, no wrinkles,
just ready for words.

my pencil is always in reach,
sharpened and ready to
make contact with the paper to form
and string those words into
and connect those sentences to make

but there are times when
I have no inspiration,
and I stare at the lined paper,
pencil suspended in mid-air.

my thoughts are jumbled,
churning in my head like a tornado.
leftover emotions,
wisps of nostalgia.
they toy with my mind,
tugging me in different directions.

I never know what to do-
poetry or prose?
first person or third person?
what do I even write about?

I get ideas.
they formulate in my brain
from one of the thoughts,
and they cling to each other
for dear life,
as more thoughts are sewn on.
more pieces of a puzzle,
more factors in the equation

my heart beats faster
as my excitement leaps.
and I bend over my paper,
pouring those thoughts and ideas
onto paper, taking extra care to
connect and loop my letters as I write.

but as more words
are added to the paper,
I realize that this was indeed
a bad idea,
a stupid one that'll go
no where.

scribble scribble scribble,
I tear my paper,
along with the ideas,
and I toss it into
a garbage can,
filled to the rim with
wasted paper, useless ideas,
and irrelevant thoughts.

"I'll just write again tomorrow,
by then I'll have inspiration."

that's what I always tell myself,
as I leave.
sorry for the suckiness of this- as you can see I didn't know what to write about haha
Nov 2013 · 1.8k
the ballet
rebecca Nov 2013
the curtain has risen,
and miniscule snow flakes,
make their appearance,
darting to and fro across the sky-
their stage.

they quickly find partners-
one bows, the other curtsies.
and they begin to dance

twirling and spinning,
weaving stories with every move.
they dance a breathtaking ballet,
an astounding performance.

at the end of each snowflake's performance,
they sprinkle the world around them,
making the atmosphere light
as the lawns turn white.

inside a cozy house,
one filled with the spirit of the holidays,
two people sit at a windowsill
on the second floor.
they watch contently,
at the beauty just outside their window.

the two people-
a content boy and a wistful girl,
are wearing slight smiles,
as they enjoy the bliss of winter
and each other.

fingers interlaced,
with shoulders touching,
the boy plants a kiss on
the girl's forehead.
and they get lost in the moment,
watching the ballet
Its happy yay :)
Nov 2013 · 1.9k
dear Annabelle
rebecca Nov 2013
dear Annabelle,

I told you one day:

"look in the mirror
and tell me what you see."

your face was a mask of sadness
and you cringed as you faced your worst enemy-

"I'm a monster."

that's what you whispered.
you were glaring at yourself,
with hate,
pure hate.

I looked at you,
the same girl you called a monster.
and I saw the most beautiful,
breathtaking person in the world.
Annabelle, I just didn't get it.

"you're wrong."

I told you.
I was sure,
that you were just insecure.
after all, how does such a perfect,
gorgeous girl have that horrible
of a view of herself?

turns out you had an eating disorder,
called anorexia nervosa.
but it was so much more than
a desire to lose weight.
you wanted to lose yourself.

after that day,
you just got worse and worse.
your world was sinking,
e v e r  s o  s l o w l y.

I wanted to make you feel batter,
but your demons were in control by then.
and Annabelle, I made you worse.

you starved and cut yourself to death,
and no one could help you.
I should've been there more,
for the girl I loved.

but I let you slip
right from my fingers.
how did I do that?

but I just want you to know,
that your view of yourself was tainted,
and you, radiant Annabelle Simons
weren't saying that,
your demons were.

you were never ugly,
or fat,
or utterly repulsive.

you were naturally beautiful,
in every way.
your smile shined,
as you flipped your midnight hair.
your personality was even brighter.
until the day you decided you weren't good enough
for yourself.

love yourself,
because you're all you have.
hug your flaws,
adore the imperfections.
never try to change who you are
because no matter what you say,
you're good enough.
you always were.

so don't look for acceptance.
it's such an abstract term.
the best thing you can do,
is just look in that mirror,
and give yourself:

A Smile.

love, D.
This is in a guy's POV. sorry if it *****. That is all. -Rebecca.
Nov 2013 · 954
rebecca Nov 2013
there's this girl.

she's wearing a smile. a smile that's as wide as the moon and bright as the sun. her eyes sparke; her hair shines. she walks with a bounce in her step, chattering nonstop with her bubbly, eccentric voice. the world to her is a stage; a glamorous paradise.

she's beautiful. she's happy. everyone loves her. alas, she's misunderstood.

there's another girl.

she has a perpetual frown on her face, one that can't be wiped away. her sadness has took its toll on her, and she's drowning in a never-ending abyss. a chasm overflowing with every thought and emotion she's ever had. her eyes are downcast; her hair is gnarled. she walks so she's unnoticed, just sliding and weaving her way through the crowd.

she's hideous. she's depressed. no one likes her. alas, she's misunderstood.

the only difference between these girls is that one hastens to show herself, while the other is hidden away, like a lost thought.

people are not always what you think they are. a misunderstanding can go a long way.
Yah I know this isn't poetry but whatevs.
Nov 2013 · 605
s t r o n g e r
rebecca Nov 2013
d e s p e r a t e lies,
spill from your lips.

you're telling me,
nonsensical *******,
about l o v i n g me.

"rebecca, you're the most b e a u t i f u l girl in the world."

a small, l i n g e r i n g smile,
has accompanied the lies.
like a ghost, it dances across your lips.

they t a u n t me,
plays ***** tricks on my mind.
isn't it twisted enough already?

my eyes are glued to my hands,
and you have the a u d a c i t y,
to take them in your own.

what you don't realize is that I'm s t r o n g e r than you.

my temper flares.
it's becoming as dangerous as flames,
and I meet your piercing eyes,
with c o u r a g e I've never bad before.

"go lie to some other girl. or even better; go **** yourself, you *******. I'm done with you meddling with my heart. Because of you, all it does is beat now. I'm stronger than you."

I will always be s t r o n g e r.
Idek what's the point of this lol.
Nov 2013 · 610
r e a l i t y
rebecca Nov 2013
I whisper a few distant words, {s o m e t i m e s, I just can't stand it.}

you ask me, [can't stand what?]

I tell you, {e v e r y t h i n g.}

[be more specific,] you tell me

{n o t h i n g is all right anymore,} I mutter.

[you used to be so different,] your words drip in remorseful venom.

{don't a c t like you know me,} I spit back, my eyes like flames.

[i do know you. you don't know yourself,] menacing whispers disintegrate from your mouth.

{you act all wise, like your words have an actual m e a n i n g. it's all *******; don't pretend like it's n o t,} you seem taken aback.

[don't **** yourself,] you get to the point.

my nostrils flare. {you're like the disney princesses; f a k e. you don't give a **** about me. you just want to satisfy some god and feel like a h e r o. you can say you care, and that you l o v e me, but after I'm long gone you'll m o v e on and forget me. life moves on.}

you blink. [you've got it all wrong.]

{no, you w a n t me to have it all wrong. your mind is so diluted you can't tell crude reality from how you want it to be. so your brain is filled with mumbo jumbo and you p i t y me for being a helpless, pathetic girl. quite the opposite, really,} I'm shouting by now.

you say nothing. your eyes are cast to the ground.

I leave, drowning out my name being screamed behind me.
Nov 2013 · 1.1k
my oasis
rebecca Nov 2013
I must
escape from all this.

I need an oasis
to get me away from this desert,
this cruel, godawful desert.

I can't survive,
always living in a daze,
just breathing in and out.

Why can't my oasis appear?
my mind is a gnarled, jumbled mess,
of unfinished thoughts, evaporating sentences.

Why can't it end?
the pain, the suffering, the state of perpetual fear,
the sleepless nights, the hazy days.

My oasis,*
is self inflicted, like my pain,
so why am I gone before ever seeing it?
Ohmygod this is really bad idk what I was thinking....

— The End —