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The tea kettle is whistling
I hear the toaster go pop
Birds are happily chirping
I wonder what they have to say
Gonna be a beautiful morning
All is well for me today

In my bathrobe drinking my tea
I put my face to the blue sky
As I watch the world pass by
I see fluffy clouds in the distance
Playing hide and seek with me
All is well for me today

Sirens scream in the distance
Someone is mowing their lawn
A smell so familiar from my memories
Warm winds blow in slowly
Spring is finally upon us again
All is well for me today
9/17/16
Normal days are hard to find in my little world
 Oct 2018 ali brown
Peppyraindrop
Colors mix in the vainest of ways,
in the strangest of states.

A sunset makes sense
blue, pink and yellow shine soft,
exchanging compliments.

but if a bird shares his view
blue is how to fly, how to wash,
and how to feed.

What does that mean?

Pastels know how to dance.
Have you watched them before?
They lift hearts and tickle hairs.
They don't care what's on your mind,
but give each thought a chair.
It's a world of wonder through
their eyes. Let us explore.
Let us try.

If you’re feeling bold,
mix in some orange, wild green,
rich plum.
Ramble and embrace and relish
in the present tick of the clock,
before the paint dries
and we‘re back to the start.

When we're curious,
change the palette to gold.
Add some earth to the mix,
browns and tans to keep us grounded.
Canary to teach us courage,
honey to give us a hold.
You are every shade of yellow,
all at once, never cold.

Can I tell you a secret?

There is wonder in the deep hues.
Magic in the woods.
The night sky is brilliant
if you think to look,
look up,
with purple swirls
and silver ideals.
Mystery fills the lavenders
and the periwinkles and the crystal cyans
and whimsical teals.
There is uncertainty in the depth.
The ocean waves are fierce,
hard to control,
the dreams free,
the souls impossible to mold.
There is extraordinary wisdom,
Every heartbeat a way to pray
new ways to see in the twilight,
perspectives that are invisible in the day.

Is that what scared you away?

For I am the blue,
the cornflower petals
far from the path
the space between the sky
and the world
when the sun goes down
the sapphire glints floating far from the learned,
from what you know.

When I asked you to stay,
and you promised me time,
I thought it was in our shade
it was yours, not mine.
Do you mind?
Being stuck, dried up in the fear of it all?
Yes. You can stay in the hues
you know all too well.
Maybe ask amber for a dance,
have coffee with cream,
snuggle close to mustard,
hold on to bronze's warmth.
Don't mix too carelessly,
Be careful the paints don’t touch,
the brushstrokes don’t show
It could ruin the lines.
Remember your lines.
Stay safe. Stay yellow.

What if we turned the wheel?
There is curiosity in your blood,
I can feel it waiting to bleed.
Like watercolor,
Searching for the canvas to accept its gift.
You are eager to skip into another palette
you are ready to see another world.
Let's feel all the hues,
use every shade,
dance with the primaries,
one two step, one two.
Mix up the tone with their creations,
until we invent new pigments,
until we run out of names
for all our formulations and hues
Let us walk the rainbow.
Turning light to color
Back to light again
Let me show you my view.

I know. You know.
You never know
what you'll get.
Painting with the rain
instead of an arranged set
can lead to a storm, nothing but grey,
nothing but dark,
but at least even then
there's no regret.

Yes, colors mix in the vainest of ways, the strangest of states.

And perhaps yellow and blue don't have any more skies to paint.
 Sep 2018 ali brown
Tea
Letter to the boy who never writes inked words that spell out   I   love   you. But still his ink bleeds in ways I have never seen and it captivates the art inside me. The words them self may not be saying what I wish to hear but the portrait drawn in each letter is creating a beautiful big picture. I am glad you let a lovely spirit bring you to rainbows found in music that spills from your room. You see beauty everywhere and always point it out
I standing right beside you and  I can’t help but feel left out
So I see the fall and all you awes and then I look inside of me
Look hard
Alone and
Scrutinize myself
So here are something s
For between… just you and me

1)When I blush it may not be the subtle pastel you would choose,
But it blossoms on my cheek the color lovely. Crimson colored glasses show all my venerability, making me something authentic. And I like it most days. You can choose to hide your face, to look away but I love the way I am burning.You can't choose my pink or pick it.It is the color it is… well its authentic

2) I care about others to the point of it being a sickness. I have numb hands because anxiety acts in quickness, just like my reactions I am real, emotional and passionate. I see my beauty now and think you can’t have it. Even if I agree about all the other beauties you refuse to see me, and I am lovely, bright, I fit my hands just right, my legs are long and strong and remind me that my feet are my wind, a feather taking me to every place I have ever been and will be.


3) When you talk your words form poetry, but you can give up any time to get to know me, and I’m a piece of art. My colors are what words were made for. My beauty bending the conceptual understanding of language and a word itself. My eyes at any point in time saying more than your fingers ever could, slowly typing out word that beat out simple meaning. Tears fall from me heavy as bricks falling from a height, weighed down with the sorrow picked up through my life.

4) Im not bitter because you didn’t think I was hot. Because shallow boys make me their toy and they all want to play. And that makes me bitter and fules me with hate.  It was nice to find someone who cared a little more, who knew there were four letters to my name. who talked and shared interests. Only bitter now because you like my inside colors, but you didn’t think I was pretty enough to paint. And the deeper pool really was just vain. Tipping at the edge I am just pulled down the drain.

5) Is a secret. I use to hate my smile; my teeth are far from perfect. People were mean, you can say anything about it and I can say I have heard it. Red lipstick is my purple hard. Showing I made it through something mean and mad, perhaps I wish I hadntnt but I had and this is my prize. This is the honorable reminded I wear it with pride. Beaming, my red lips framing what had held me back from smiling for years. And I smile from ear to ear its beautiful.

6) A confession, I hate that you don’t see me, but I love what I see myself. I wish your hand writing wasn’t more appealing than the empty echo of what they tell.
So here is a letter to a boy, who writes in lovely scroll. Who couldn’t love me, if he knew me all. Simply said, I hope you find someone right, not me ever, not me tonight. Bitter without the sweet. To the boy who only writes but doesn't read, who expresses but just cant see, to the other lovely soul confused by all the color... I just needed to write you one last letter.
 Aug 2018 ali brown
Vinnie Brown
There are 31,536,000 seconds in a year
I wonder how many of them
I'll spend with you in mind
Burning through the minutes talking
Swimming through the hours touching
Flying through the years loving
Hey, maybe time will be on our side
Opposite of death wishes
I got a love wish
Just be my last kiss
 Aug 2018 ali brown
Tay
It's called anxiety.
Sometimes, I can pay attention to you.
Sometimes, I can't.
Some days are better than other ones.
But the others,
Well, the other ones look a little like trains Going a little too fast for their tracks
Like clocks that break their glass fronts
And cartoon characters with smoke
Coming from their heels when they run
Running faster than the 60 seconds a minute allows
It is my body moving too fast for me to Catch my breath but I'm just sitting at my Desk tapping my pencil and I can feel the Teacher drilling holes into the back of my
Skull
I know the God-awful sound is killing her
But it is keeping me from going insane
It is chewing away the insides of my Cheeks
And scratching at my forehead
Looking for answers
But always coming up with hungry hands
It's hearing white noise
And glass shattering
And candles flickering
I know I should not be hearing a candle
Dance
But I do
It's just me spinning out of control
I know you've noticed I'm no longer using Punctuation but this is how I always feel
This is how my mind is
It is always racing
My foot swings back and forth like
Poe's Pit and the Pendulum swinging faster and faster towards my chest and it's Always on fire
My hands fumble with puzzle pieces
Because I identify with the one that's
Always missing
It is being lonely in the hands of someone
Who loves me
I feel his calloused hands hollowly like I
Don't have a right to them
It is wanting to scream to the hooded
Figure in the door "I'm scared" but it
Coming out as an inaudible crack in my
Voice
I find solace in the cracks between tile
I'm looking at my reflection in black Screens wishing I could just pick myself Up
From the bottom of orange bottles with
Safety-***** lids
A doctor once told me one day I would be
Okay
But one day seems to be miles and
Years away
I've shrunk to the size of a stick
My bones jutting out every which way
Paper-thin and too many words to fill the
Hole in my confidence a man once bore Into me
My hands shake when I step into a church
Like I've done something wrong
My mind goes over every event up until
Now wondering why my hands shake and
My chest drops below the floor
Grandmother tells me I will go to hell if I Do not act right and my mother tells me it Is
All in my head
But again a doctor gave me
An orange bottle with thirty tiny white pills And told me one day everything Would be
Okay.
I just want it to be okay.
My mind is always racing like the way "Normal"
Ones do before taking a test not studied for.
I'm sure you will consider this an episode
Of marked depression, but this monster is Anxiety.
Sometimes I can pay attention to you.
Other times I can't because of this
Infinitely.
Running.
Mind.
 Jul 2018 ali brown
Robin Lemmen
There is art
In your heart
Painting pictures
When I lay
My head down on your chest

There are songs in your eyes
Singing lullabies
When you hover
Pin me down
With your stare

There is a poem
On the tip
Of your tongue
I taste it
When I kiss you

You are tortured
Stereotyped
My jaded lover
I hear it
When you won't talk
 Jul 2018 ali brown
Nivine Nahli
The bitterness of love,
Is becoming sweetness.

n.n
 Jul 2018 ali brown
egghead
the world relentlessly confuses
Tragedy with Art.

We commercialize anxiety
and weigh the profit margin after the cost of therapy.

So that we can play again
and repeat.

So that we can feel whole.
Understood.
Real.
On the backbone of another's suffering.

On the bloodied palms of a fist held too tight.

On the dry cheeks of a face ravaged by tears.

We hold onto this pain.
We publicize it.

Push it like crack in the streets.

people mistake our breaks in reality
For redemption.
Corrosive acid.
that you can hold in your hand.
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