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Alyanne Cooper Jul 2010
it's all these feelings
welling up inside me
that make it impossible
to sleep at night.
it's all these memories
of what you did to me
that make it impossible
to cry for you.
it's all this confusion--
am i supposed to or not--
that's making it impossible
to let you go.

i wish it wasn't like this.

22 years old.
but sometimes i feel
the childishness rising within
to the surface
and all i can do is
be a child again.

i scrape my knee:
it's bruised and bleeding.
i cut my finger:
it stings and hurts.
i'm scared of the dark:
I sleep with my Sock Monkey.

Children don't have insomnia.
22 year old's do.
i do.

it's like that song.
"i'm waiting in the dark/ thought that you'd be here by now."
no one's here. you're not here.
i'm alone.

A phone call from someone who loves me
and i love him.
never a call from you though.
never a card, an email, a note
that says you're ok.

and i think to myself
all those years
all those months
all those weeks
all those days
all those hours
all those minutes
all those seconds
all those moments
all those slaps
all those kicks
all those lectures
all those screams
all those punches
all those kisses
all those "i love you"s

i think to myself
i don't want any of it back.
you took all that from me
and i don't want it back.
i don't want you back.

i don't want the pain
i don't want the abuse
i don't want the beatings
i don't want the worthless feeling
i don't want the constant failure
i don't want the loneliness

i want to be happy.
i want:
moving on.
moving past.
forgiving and forgetting.
letting go.
i want to sleep.

i wish i was strong
resilient and fearless.
i wish i was okay.

and i wish you were here.

but i have to stop wishing for those fantasies.
i have to stop dreaming fairytale endings for this story.
i have to stop trying to rewrite unwritten history.
i have to let what is be.

so watch me closely. listen to the sound of my voice.
hear the strength and the surety.
let it fill you with its honesty and truth.

i am walking away from this.

i am not turning my back on you.
but i am walking away.
this is not the life i want.
this is not the life i choose.
if you want me i'll be there.
but you'll never get me like you used to.
i'll never give you all of myself again.
the trust is gone.
and i can't bring it back.
i'm tired of the lies
so i'm walking away.

i never dreamed of this day
i never expected its coming.
i never thought anything like this could happen
i never imagined i'd be saying
Mom, goodbye.
Alyanne Cooper Sep 2014
I swore an oath and
I took it seriously,
As though the very act of
Reciting the words
I had fervently memorized
Could etch them forever
Into the very fibers of my heart.
And every subsequent articulation
Of those specific words
Served only to pluck again
At the heartstrings
That had been vowed,
And the oath was sworn again.

There came a moment, however,
When the foundation of the oath
Was shaken and rattled,
When the purpose for its existence
Was haphazardly cast aside,
And in the blink of an eye,
My oath was compromised.

For the first time in my life,
I let my oath die.
I let my words come to naught
And my name became associated with
"Promise-breaker."

I promised to love you.
And I tried to keep that promise
Even though you had long ago
Chosen to walk away,
But I have to confess,
I can't keep my promise anymore.

Because of the inevitable pain,
There's only one oath I can now make:
I promise to never make another promise.
Alyanne Cooper Jun 2014
If your muggy-grubby hands
Even rise to slap me again
I swear I'll chop them off with my axe.

If your fangly-boniony feet
Get within kicking distance of me,
I swear I'll tear your legs from your hips
And then admire my workmanship.

If your mangy-crazy mind
Tries to infiltrate mine
To deposit some lie
That would change the perception
Of me, myself, and i,
I swear I'll grab a spoon
And scrape, scrape, scrape
Out your brain.

If your hoity-toity attitude
Tries to usurp my solitude
To make me someone I'm not
I swear I'll be completely dispassionate
As I wipe your every iota from this
Particulate Universe.

If I so much as hear you breathe,
I swear I will squeeze
Every
Drop
Of
Air
Left in your lungs.

You think this is too violent even for me?
You'd better believe
I've been pushed to the edge
Of all logical reason
By your every act of treason
And I won't hesitate to
Incapacitate,
Excommunicate
Eradicate,
You from my life.

You'd better beware.
I'm angry and all this I'll do.
I swear.
Alyanne Cooper Jun 2016
They kept saying it was going to be okay.

Ma'am, just take a seat. Someone will be right with you.

Fingers loosened their grip,
Breaths became pants,
Tears ran as rivers,
And my mind went blank.

Ma'am, you can't go back there.
Ma'am, just take a seat. Someone will be right with you.

They never said it'd be so...white.
White walls,
White floors,
White ceilings,
White coats,
White faces.

Counting tiles on the floor,
Have to restart because feet keep getting in the way.
But no one ever tells you how quiet it can be.

Ma'am, please. Please. Please take a seat.

I sit.

I wait.

I think about praying,
but I don't know who to pray to anymore,
Because surely this can't be God.

I wait.

I sit.

Ma'am...

I stand.

Fingers tighten their grip.
Breaths slow down.
Tears cease to flow.
My mind is crystal clear.

I know nothing is going to be okay.

And I'm okay with that.

Ma'am...I'm so sorry.

Hands raise of their own accord
and I stop the words I don't want to hear.

My lips whisper
It's okay.
Alyanne Cooper Jun 2014
I met a guy,
And when he looks at me
I know he sees
Him and me
Down the road
When we're old
Sitting' on that back porch
Drinkin' sweet tea
Or maybe whiskey;
Him and me
Down the road
Livin' in an airstream
Like gypsies
Blown from place to place
Never stayin' settled too long;
Him and me
Down the road
Hand in hand
Watchin' our
Sons become fathers,
Daughters become mothers,
But always our children
No matter how old they get;
Him and me
Down the road
Side by side
Six feet under
With his epitaph that reads
"Her and me forever."
And mine that reads
"What he said."
Alyanne Cooper Aug 2015
She had mousey brown hair
Always in a bun.
Her hazel eyes turned grey at times,
And she got pink in the sun.
She stood taller than I;
Though I desperately tried
To grow that extra four inches
Alas my genetics determined
It would not be so.
Her hands were not distinguished
But rather soft yet common.
(I grew very well acquainted with those knuckles.)
Her body once lithe before childbirth
Became a homely pear.
Not much, you may say, to look at.
But there were days, I'll tell you,
When she was more beautiful
Than the red harvest moon.
The days on which she smiled.
Those are the days I search for
In my memory.
For that is all I have left of her, you see.
Just this artfully lacking description
Based upon fading photographic memories.
Nothing tangible.
Just this imaginable
Portrait of my mother.

I miss who she used to be.
Alyanne Cooper May 2014
How many times have we wondered
What's waiting for us
Right around the next corner?
How many stories have we imagined
Scene after scene after tired scene,
Wishing for what will never be?

Yet still with this unknown comes a journey--
One we cannot but desire to take.
The good, the bad, and the ugly lie ahead.
But for now, whatever awaits round the bend
Will just have to wait.

These leaves are so green.
These lights so warm.
Let's take a slower step
As we move forward round this corner.
Let's enjoy this.
And wish nothing else would come
To break our fragile hearts again
In this long never ending journey.
Alyanne Cooper Jul 2014
I walked up to you,
You said, "How do ya do?"
We chatted a while
'Bout how the weather was mild.
You paused as if you were done,
Then suddenly began to hum.
Your eyes twinkled as you took my hand
And then we began to dance.
It was that afternoon that I knew
What my father once said was true:

Being swept off her feet on an ordinary day
To dance with him in their kitchen,
*Will make any woman fall a little more in love.
Alyanne Cooper Jan 2016
It used to be
After we parted
Your face was everywhere--
Every billboard, every flyer--
And your words were everywhere--
Every billboard, every flyer--
And I couldn't escape you
No matter how hard I tried.

Then time passed.

And I'd be going through my day,
And your face was just somewhere--
Some billboards, some flyers--
And your words were just somewhere--
Some billboards, some flyers--
And I found myself actively looking
To see if I could find you somewhere.

And time passed.

And today I realized the date,
And turned expecting to see a memory,
A face,
My past,
You,

But your face was nowhere,
And your words were nowhere,

Because it wasn't the date I thought it was--
That date had passed
Without my realizing,
And today was no special day,
Just another ordinary day,
And I smiled,
Which made it an extraordinary day.

I'm going about my life everywhere--
Every billboard, every flyer--
Just another model in an advert.
Alyanne Cooper Aug 2014
On Monday I took a bus to Chinatown,
Wandered the streets like a tourist.

On Tuesday I sat in the Park all day
Watching squirrels dashing to and fro.

On Wednesday I slept in late
Because well...it was Wednesday.

On Thursday I bought a MUNI pass
And rode from North Beach to Daly City.

On Friday I ran Ocean Beach
Not for the exercise but to chase sea gulls.

On Saturday I meandered the empty halls
Of the old academic institution I attended.

And on Sunday, when I had done all the
Things I used to love doing in this place...

*On Sunday, I laid you to rest.
Alyanne Cooper Jun 2014
Come,
Dance with me
Under stars
That have died
Thousands of years ago.

Come,
Sing with me
And let us raise voices
On winds that travel nowhere
And touch no one.

Come,
Eat with me
The food left moldy and rotten
By those who came afore us
On the table just out of our reach.

Come,
Lie with me
On a bed of sweat-soaked sheets
In a room rank with pleasure
Others shared.

Come
With me now
And see the life you were meant to have
But were too busy
With all your anxiety
And technology
And pharmacology
And ethology
And ideology
And erotology
To live.

Come,
See the life you were
Just late for.
Alyanne Cooper May 2014
People keep asking me
Why I'm living alone
And friendless and not married
At age 26...

Well, when every member
Of your family,
Both blood and adopted,
leaves you,

You kinda develop a complex.
Alyanne Cooper Jun 2014
I craft my haikus
By counting syllables on
Dancing phalanges.
Alyanne Cooper Jun 2014
Nothing under the sun
Rhymes with "orange."

According to the OED,
And in my book the OED is the AUTHORITY,
(At least when it comes to English words.)
There is only one word
That rhymes with "orange":
"Sporange".

But this doesn't count
Because it has the word "orange" in it!

Nothing under the sun
Rhymes with the word "orange."
Alyanne Cooper Jun 2014
When drafting
Poetic masterpieces
On a Personal Computer,
**ALWAYS PRESS SAVE.
Alyanne Cooper Aug 2015
My great grandma used to say
"Child, life is what you make it to be."
Those words should be framed
And kept alongside me.

She was a bashful violet
Amid a profusion of wild roses.
Hot tempered Irish
Who never stuck up her nose
At anything.

Though she had her faults--
Could hold the longest, meanest grudge--
But at the end of her day,
She never regret
Because she knew
Life is what she made it to be.

I probably could learn a thing or two from her.
Alyanne Cooper Jul 2014
Tell me, what have you learned?

Where do I begin?
I have learned that
The human experience
Is common to all mankind
And yet each man's life is unique.

I have learned that
Discrimination is unavoidable
For how can you ask a person
To not have their opinion or thought,
But that what man does with that opinion
Is more important than him having it.

I have learned that
Not everyone who is in the position
To teach you, to nurture you, to mould you
Has your best intentions in their hearts.

I have learned that
Love is always conditional
Even when we say it's not
And insist there are no strings attached
Because if love were truly unconditional
Then there would be
No war, no abuse, no struggling, no fights.

I have learned that
I am not the person reflected
In the iris of another's eyes
But rather I am still learning who I am.

I have learned
Many things which words cannot
Begin to describe or articulate
So I just have to end with:

Tell me, what have you learned?
Alyanne Cooper Aug 2014
I've been caught up
Devouring book after book.
Words have become my drug,
Fables, fairytales, and fiction my high.
Lyrical portraits painted in black on white.
Flawed heroes and heroines,
Wise master elders,
And the love-to-hate villain,
Have become more familiar to me
Than a close friend or relative.
And when I turn the last page,
My heart breaks a little
With the thought that their story is done.
But in the next breath
I cheer up again
As I plan my next affair
Full of stolen glances,
Secret rendezvous,
Discreet touches,
And late night trysts
With a well-written work of literature.
Alyanne Cooper Jun 2014
You never compromised.

Why should I?

You never gave up your dreams.

Why should I?

You never sacrificed.

Why should I?

You never...

Why would I?

**Because I love...
Alyanne Cooper Sep 2015
Fairytales, or maybe Hollywood,
Have us expecting
Grand gestures of romance
Like universe-traversing declarations
Of undying infinite love
Or gravity defying stunts
Displaying unutterable sentiments
Of all-encompassing passion
Or no-amount-of-money-is-too-much bling
Presenting the most ornate emblem
Of breath-stealing desire.

Or even a simple poem
Attempting to put into tangibility
A deep souls-stitching, time-surpassing love.

You've to come to expect these
Or something matching in intensity.
But I have none of those for you.

Not even as a poet
Have I found the better words
To beat the three
Whose sound
Is what we all long to hear.

I say them
At sunset
When your head slips onto my shoulder
As we watch the stars rise into the sky
And your breath steadies and slows
Into slumber
And I know there is no other place for me now
For I belong only where you are.

I say them
At sunrise
When your lips graze mine
Before you tumble out of bed
In preparation for your day
And I watch through slatted eyelids
And I know there is no way for me to survive
For you hold the very breath
That fuels my lungs.

I say them
When you're not around
But your face and being
So easily come to mind
And I can't help thinking about you
And telling you even though you're not there
Because I know that my thoughts will never
Not contain you
For you are the "think" to my "I am".

I say them
With every inhale and exhale I take
Because that is how often
I want you to hear them.

I say those three words
Because there are no grand gestures
Or passionate declarations
Or sentimental pieces of jewelry
That will ever best
Their ability to convey my heart for you.

I will say them to you always:
I love you.
Alyanne Cooper Jun 2014
Listen.
I know you've lived longer
Than my short quarter century life.
I know you've seen more,
Done more, loved more,
Touched more, tasted more,
Experienced more things than i.
I know you're only trying to help.
I appreciate the giving of advice.
I know you mean well
When you say it's time to give them up,
It's time to move on,
To be my own person,
To learn to live for only myself.
But you haven't lived through
The total decimation of your family.
You haven't watched as the lives
Of your loved ones fall into utter ruin
One by one.
You weren't relegated to helpless paralysis
By the fear that you'd lose them all
And by the depression that came with knowing
You couldn't even help yourself.
You don't know what it feels like
To have the dagger of abandonment,
The shattered shards of broken hearts,
The pinpoint needles of disillusionment,
The three-pronged fork of misunderstanding,
****** into your soul over and over
By every lemon life throws your way.
You don't know what it is to stand
On the brink of death
Because if you don't have them,
You have nothing.
You still have your family.
All intact and whole.
So don't begrudge me
My clutching, grasping, clinging attempts
At keeping what remnants of a family I have
Together.
I will not let them go
Until they have to be pried
From my dead hands.
And even then, I will still be loyal.

*They are all i have.
Alyanne Cooper May 2016
She says we're magic.
And my inclination is to doubt
Because to me magic is the impossible.

But every time she speaks
She's magic.
And it's been like that since we shared a womb.

We are twins that shouldn't have been;
No twins run in either side of our bloodlines.
An impossible pair, you could say.

She calls us magic.

She and I have faced death and lived.
Hindsight still brings no clarity
To understanding why we didn't die.
An impossible life, you could say.

She calls us magic.

And I watch how she moves through her life as a teacher
Touching and changing and redirecting
The fatal fate others are destined for
Making it into a life worthy of them
For she says they're magic too.

And knowing what she's seen and lived,
What she does seems impossible to me.

But she does it. She lives it. She is it.
And I wonder how she couldn't be
When that's the only sensible thing:
She is magic.

Then she pulls up a mirror
And faces me.

Our lives parted paths long ago yet remain parallel.
And she makes me see that all I've done
To live and breathe and thrive and succeed
Is in others' eyes, impossible.

And she boldly declares yet again,
Yo, we are ******' magic!

This time I believe.
Alyanne Cooper Sep 2015
It was sugar coated,
The truth you attempted to pass on to me.
I told you not to hold back,
That I could handle whatever needed saying.
But you censored the truth,
Coating it in a thick layer of deceit
Topped with a cherry of half a truth.

And when I finally step away
From your hilltop grave,
I think I understand
Why you tried to hold my hand
And kept up the ruse
Of the sugar-coated truths.

All you left was a note saying "I'm sorry."
Because that is all you could
Muster the strength to say.
All you left was a note--bloodied
Rather than wet with the tears
You were too scared to shed.

You hated goodbyes.
I always knew this.
I hated them too.
The finality of it all is unbearable.

But I wish you'd given me a chance
To say goodbye to you.

I know you thought I wouldn't understand,
Wouldn't comprehend your need to go.
I guess that's something we'll never know.
But I'd like to think I'd've taken your hand
And pressed my lips to your temple
And whispered "I love you.
Goodbye."

Because if I didn't get it then,
I certainly get it now.

So all I can do
Is press my lips to your headstone
And whisper
I love you. Goodbye.
Alyanne Cooper May 2015
Blue skies like a canvas overhead
With painted, cottenball clouds.
Shrieks of gleeful mirth
And raucous athletic cheers
Float on a gentle spring breeze.

But for me...

Thunder rumbles
In my boiling-blooded veins.
A quiet intensity
Settles like the dark cloak of night.
Time slows,
And the world stands still.

I should be moving on, letting go,
But all I know
Is that I miss you.
Alyanne Cooper Aug 2015
The ache is old
And deep-seated
And cold
And numbing
And uncontrolled
And heavy
And bold.

It hits as if Thor's hammer is
Striking his enemies who have somehow
Taken up residence
In my heart.
And he must obliterate them.

I wish the doctors could find a way to fix this.
But it seems they are as lost as I.

So I greet this ache as I would Death:
An old friend,
Yet one I had hoped to be far less aquatinted with.

This ache is old,
As old as I.
And it always will be.
Alyanne Cooper Jul 2014
Today I took a walk down memory lane
With some people from my past.
Your name never came up
But your shadow haunted every
Turn in conversation and we did our best
To ignore it.
In fact we did our best to pretend
That your existence was not real,
But then someone mentioned,
"Hey remember that time we...."
And flashbacks of suppressed visions
Of things I had hoped to never see again
Simply because they're not important
To who I am now
Flooded my stream of consciousness
And I chose to think of you.
To think of that time in that place
Where we did that thing....
And the more I think about it
The fuzzier it becomes.
I can't quite picture
The people, the room, the music,
The embarrassment, the shame, the guilt,
The utter ridiculousness of it all.
And the harder I try to grasp at the edges
Of the fraying memory
To bring it back into something whole,
Something vivid and full,
The darker and slipperier it gets.
And suddenly it dawns on me
Why it was easy to forget in the first place:
It just doesn't matter.
Who you were, who I was,
What you did, what I did,
Just doesn't matter
So what's the point in remembering?
Today I took a walk down memory lane
But decided it was far more enjoyable
To make a u-turn and walk
Away from you again.
Yes I made up the word "slipperier", but isn't that the point of poetic license?
Alyanne Cooper May 2014
"I lost her to mental illness."
It just doesn't produce
Quite the same sympathy as
"I lost her to cancer." Or
"I lost her to a car accident."

People look at you strangely
As if you don't understand
What it means to be alive,
That you don't know a person
Is alive and well if they're breathing
And talking and living.
They try to correct you and say
That you're just not in contact
With her anymore,
Not that you've actually lost her.

People think mental illness:
"Can't be that bad, right?"
"At least she's still alive."
"You could still talk to her,
If you wanted."
They think being sad about it,
Being broken hearted over it,
Being depressed because of it,
Is just exaggerated hysterics.

But I lost her to mental illness.
I lost her to mental illness!

It IS that bad!
It means she is gone from me
As much as if she physically died!
I CAN'T talk to her
Even though I do want to!

There is no going back
To the way it used to be.
Every day of the rest of my life
Will be missing a key person
Whom I can never get back.

She abandoned me,
Chose to walk out of my life.

But it was the mental illness
That stole any hope I had
Of seeing her walk back in.
It was the mental illness
That orphaned me.
It was the mental illness
That "killed" my mom.

So please don't trivialize my loss.
Don't depreciate my pain.
It's just as valid and just as real.

I lost her to mental illness.
Alyanne Cooper Aug 2015
They say time slows down
The closer you get to the speed of light.
I must be flying through space
Leaving a trail of blaze
Streaking through the sky
On this midnight train
Called Insomnia
Because these last few seconds
Felt a hell of a lot longer
Than all of last year.
Alyanne Cooper Aug 2015
It goes down like
The ice-cold tendrils of hell's deepest level
Are clawing at the slick walls
Of my tight throat.
A stone the weight of a mammoth
Settles in the pit of my stomach.
And the edges of my vision
Darken until it's just a pinprick.
Hands trembling.
Heart hammering.
Legs unsteady and ready
To collapse and fail me.
It's coming and I can't stop it.
I can never stop it.
All I can do is endure.

How many more things
Must I longsuffer?
How many more times
Can my heart break
Before the putting back together
Is worth far less than
The staying broken?
I don't know how much more
I have in me to just breathe again.
This pain, this migraine,
Is just the symptom of
Something more
Unbearable.
Alyanne Cooper Jul 2014
My fingertips pause
Over worn out keys
On a board that's seen
Better days, but that was years ago
When the muses were fresh,
The utterance adequate,
The language clear and precise,
The sonnets and haikus flowing
Easily from thought to tongue to finger to page.
Things have changed greatly since then.

My fingertips pause
Over worn out keys
Because some things
Are too hard to voice.
Some pains go so deep in my soul
That not even I know they exist.
Some memories so old
Of a childhood first snow
Or teenage habitual mistake
Or adolescent innocent fantasy
Have faded to a sepia-tone
Not able to be conveyed on paper.
Some experiences too personal
That sharing would ruin them forever
Because no one else could fully appreciate
What it means
To me
In my life,
Both past and future.

So silence descends
As my fingertips pause
Over worn out keys
On a board that's seen
Better days.

For how do I type out a poem
When keys have gone missing,
Like some of the pieces of my soul?
Alyanne Cooper Oct 2016
There's a soundtrack stuck in my head.
A whispering, quiet melody.
Flutes and violins take center stage
As cellos and clarinets round out the sound.
The soft plucking of a harp shades and fills in
With the gentle support of a French horn.
And so the basses and the tubas grow louder
As the melody swells
Like a leaf blown higher on the wind.
As it begins to crescendo,
I can feel it in my fingertips--
The emotion of it all.

There's a symphony in your smile,
An orchestral accompaniment
To the twinkle in your eye.
Your laughter is the thumping of the timpani;
Your chuckle the plucking of an upright bass.
Your soft conversing is a harmonic woodwind;
Your finely crafted wit, a lively piccolo.
And your hands gently taking mine,
Cradling them and never wanting to let go,
Is the soft caress of a singing violin.

And when you say, "I love you",
I realize it was you all along.
You are the music in my head,
The soundtrack to my life.
And like we used to do in bygone days,
I would play this music cassette
Over and over and over again
Until the film is faded and cracked,
And there is no more cassette that can be played.
Then I would sit and close my eyes,
And recall it in my memory,
For the music of the heart never fades.

Just like your "I love you's"
And my "I know's".
Alyanne Cooper Sep 2015
I stand
Corrected.

You were right.
It was all my fault.

It was my fault
I couldn't handle
The demons of your past
While trying to
Exorcise my own.

It was my fault
I couldn't slay
The dragons
Surrounding your tower
And save you from yourself.

It was my fault
I couldn't swoop in
And pluck you
From the depths
Of your Hell's fires.

It was my fault
I couldn't save you.

It was all my fault
Because I couldn't see
Past the end of my own nose.

It was my fault
I learned to cook and clean
And pay all the bills
When I was eight years old.
(You were "sick" on the couch.)

It was my fault
I learned self defense
And how to slid a knife
Between a man's ribs
When I was twelve years old.
(You threw me out on the street to fend for myself.)

It was my fault
I learned the sweet taste
Of the siren named Whisky
And her silken embrace's escape
When I was fourteen years old.
(You put the first bottle in my hand.)

It was my fault
I learned the power
Of Death
And became his closest friend
When I was sixteen years old.
(You said you'd never wanted me to begin with.)

It was my fault
I learned the truth
And had to choose
Between me and you
And I couldn't choose you
Because I had finally seen
The real view:

It was all my fault
That I so blindly
Trusted
Adored
Worshipped
Loved
you.

It was all my fault.
And I stand corrected.
Alyanne Cooper Oct 2015
I sat beneath a willow tree
To sing about my sorrows,
And who happened upon my knee
But a cricket named Jiminy.

Girl, why you crying?
Can't you see the sun still shining?

"I don't think you'd understand these tears of mine.
I don't think you'd comprehend this pain of mine."

He just looked and winked at me,
Why don't you give me a try?
I shook my head and closed my eyes,
"Ok, I'll let you try

"To understand these tears of mine,
To comprehend this pain of mine."

And when I was done with the crying,
I looked up and saw the sun still shining.

And gone from my knee
Was that cricket Jiminy.

And a smile spread from ear to ear,
For I had let go of all my fears.

He's not gone forever, you see,
Just gone for now from me
To help the next lost girl with sorrow
Singing underneath a willow.

But he'll be back.
For always he'll be
My friend Jiminy.
Alyanne Cooper Oct 2015
I kept it.
It's safe even after all this time.
I bet you never thought
It would still be around almost thirty years later.
But it is!
And I still run my fingers across its seams
While thinking how you must have felt
As the needle and thread guided by your fingers
Made every stitch
Knowing you'd be giving it to me.
You loved me and made it for me,
And I wasn't even born yet!

It's not in pristine condition,
I'll admit.
But it's intact and as whole as I still am.
We both have our holes:
Our badge of honor to bear in this world.
But we're here,
And I now intend to keep it that way.

And one day,
One day you're going to see me
From whatever corner of the universe
Your soul now calls home,
You're going to see me,
And you're going to be proud
To say I was once your granddaughter.

I wasn't your favorite or even the best,
But I was yours
And that's all that matters to me.
Kind of like this Blankie you made just for me
Is mine.
Alyanne Cooper Jul 2014
Human incompetence,
Lack of common sense,
Absolute inconsideration,
Selfish abandoning of responsibility--

These will be the end of me.
Alyanne Cooper Nov 2015
You ever have one of those days
Where the world's weight sets
Just a bit heavier on your shoulders
As you try your best to meet
Everyone's high standards,
But you can't because all you are is failure;
And you know that all you need
Is to hear one person say,
"Hey, you're doing great. It's hard;
But I'm proud of you."?

Ever have one of those days
Where that's all you'll need in order to make it--
Just one person to be proud of you?

Now I know you don't think much of me,
So this may not mean much to you,
But I think it should mean more
Than anybody else's words:

Well, I'm proud of you.
Alyanne Cooper Jun 2014
I walked into a room where you were
And my pride kept me from hightailing
It out of the room and running until
My legs burned with lactic acid.
You spoke to me but the words fell on dull ears.
You looked at me but I kept my walls up
Such that in my head I was invisible.
I had done so well protecting myself,
Staying away from the places you frequented,
Not spending time with the people you call friends
Even though they were my friends first.
And then today all my efforts became
Void, vain, utterly useless,
For there I was inwardly crumbling
The broken-then-stitched-back-together
Fragments of my heart
Between proverbial coldhearted fingers.
My jaw is as set as my will: like flintstone,
Cold, hard, and steeled.
You may once have had a hold on me,
Affected me, impacted me,
But today, you are nobody.
Alyanne Cooper Jul 2014
Someone asked me the other day
If I knew you.
A million replies shot through my head,
But the one that came out of my mouth
Was, "No, not anymore."
At first I thought this was a straight up lie,
But as I started to turn away
And move on to something else,
I realized it wasn't.

I don't know you anymore.
I can't remember what your face looks like.
That might have something to do with
The fact that I try to avoid
All photos of you.
Actually, I avoid anything
That might send a memory of you
Flashing across my eyelids.
I'm wary of sleeping again
Because I don't want to dream of you.
I've stopped listening to country music
Because the emotions it evokes from me
Remind me of the times I was with you.
I've stopped playing my guitar and violin
Because I was happiest
Playing them for you.
I've stopped living because without you,
It's just not good enough.
You told me that you'd never leave,
That no matter what our relationship
Eventually looked like
You'd always be my family.
But you did leave,
And I don't have a family.
I've been wallowing in
That for months now.
Bemoaning my loss.
Not exactly grieving,
For to grieve involves
Facing certain things and
Deciding to let them go and move on.
No,
I have been wallowing in a hole of self-pity.
And it's rather disgusting.
Covered with the mud and
**** that is my life.
No wonder people don't want
Long-term relationships with me.
I'm broken and not worth their time
Or energy or life.

I've got to face the music now.
I've got to decide to stand up,
Wash myself off, and leave
This somewhat
Comfortable-only-because-it's-familiar hole.
And I think that I've somewhat
Begun to do that.
I mean, how else could I have said
"No, not anymore"
And meant it.
It's a good thing
I don't know you anymore.
You were part of my past.
But you were also someone
Who kept me in that hole.
And even though
A part of my heart loved you,
I don't want that hole to be my life.

So I'm standing up for myself now.
I'm washing myself off.
And this time, I'm doing the walking away.
From now on, when someone asks me
if I know you,
I think I'll continue to reply,

*"No, not anymore."
Alyanne Cooper Sep 2015
It's almost like you don't exist
Except for in my imagination.
And I'm more than a little curious
To know if that is why
Our friendship
Endures.
Of course, the painted portraits
In all our conversations
Detailing your myriads of adventures
Goes far to convince
Even the most skeptical
Of your factual existence,
And yet, you're like that imaginary friend
We all have at some point dreamed up--
The friend who just knows
Who we are and where we stand;
The friend with whom laughter
Is infectious and enduring;
The friend whose intangible presence
Gives far more comfort than a tangible touch;
The friend for whom every moment
Is about quality and not quantity;
The friend we always imagined we would have
But struggled to find in the real world.
And yet, there you stand,
Granted it's a thousand miles away.
But perhaps that distance is why
This friendship solidified as quickly as it did
And why it feels like it will endure all tests of time.
Or perhaps it's the simpler fact
That you and I
Are two sides to the same coin
In personality, ethics, morals, and justice,
And that you weren't made up by me
In my overly fanciful imagination;
For there is far more power and stability in reality
Than in one's conjured visualization.
Alyanne Cooper Oct 2015
My brother in arms was laid to rest
Amid a fanfare and pomp as was their best
For such was surely his deserved reward
To honor his heart and spirit and love out-poured.

And this was he: a simple man in plain clothes
Who willingly stood beside us lesser folk
Yet never his nose was higher than us
For he knew he was not greater but just

A man who sought to love and to be loved,
To help others with no cost in mind,
To remind us all with every passing day
That life is good when we treat each other well.

And I watched them raise their arms in salute
With tears and cries threatening to break forth
From soldiers' steeled hearts and guarded eyes.
They loved him as a brother, a friend, a father.

And I repented of my own dark ambitions
To leave this world cleaner with my passing,
For there is no peace for others
In our taking of our own lives
Whatever the feeble justification;
Just loss and emptiness with no direction.

But these who stood around his grave
Had light and purpose in their eyes
For though he had gone into Death's arms,
He had not left them empty-handed.

He left them love and peace and purpose.
And the aspiration to be half the man he was.
And this I saw was his final farewell,
To be the inspiration to others as he was to me.

How do we honor him?
How do we say goodbye?
We keep his words in our thoughts
And love as deeply as he did us.

We raise our glass for the DedPoet.
Sláinte!
Alyanne Cooper Jul 2014
One day when you lose the very person who makes your heart want to beat every moment for the rest of time and you no longer have the strength to find meaning in the simple joys of the daily mundane human life because there is no one to share it with anymore....

Then you'll know
What watching you
Walk out of my life felt like.

Then you'll understand
Me.
Alyanne Cooper Jun 2014
Why is it that when I set out to write a poem
I end up writing a Scandinavian saga?
Why can't I write poetry that's short?

*Like this.
Alyanne Cooper Jul 2014
My phone drops from my hands,
All my body's strength ebbs away.
I have to lie down so I don't fall down
Because my legs can't support my body weight.
And then I'm staring
At the whitewashed walls and ceiling
Of my furniture-filled bedroom
And suddenly the panic sets in.
Everything is too tight, too close, too much.
I need to get out of here.
I need to breathe
But I can't because all I can think about
Is you.
Your words.
Your life.
Your choices.
And as I lay there sweating cold bullets of fear,
I wonder why I'm panicking.
It was just another email.
A general update to no one in particular.
One of the ones you always send out
To everyone because you still think we care.
You didn't say a single word about anyone else.
Four whole pages of you.
And I guess that's why I'm struggling to breathe.
It's like I never existed to you.
It's like you never cared about me.
And suddenly the need to see you
To talk to you
To hold you
To laugh, to cry, to just simply be
With you
Overwhelms me.
Not the you who wrote that email.
Not the you who you think you are now.
The you who doesn't even acknowledge her own offspring.
No, I'm desperate to touch the you
Who I know is locked away in a part
So deeply hidden in your soul
That you've forgotten about her.
The you who still knows a mother's love
For her daughter.
I want to see the unclouded eyes,
Hear the unselfish voice,
Touch the compassionate soul
Of the amazing woman who birthed me.
But I'm so afraid that you've finally done it.
That you've finally killed off
The last vestiges of her soul
With the darkness of your own.
I panic with the truth that faces me:
I'll really never be able to see her again.
Alyanne Cooper Jun 2011
The world outside bustles
As everyone rustles
Through their busy lives.
She sits outwardly still and calm
But waiting for some balm
To come soothe her tired soul.

Soothe the sting and burn
Of having to relearn
How to live and go on.
Soothe the fear and pain
Of having to refrain
From saying what she wants to really say.

If only they knew
If only they saw
The little child
That hides within.

If only they heard
If only they sensed
The trembling babe
That cries at night.

But a grown woman
Has perfected the art
Of painting on masks.
The lines, the colors,
So perfectly drawn on
To hide the imperfect reality.

So the world bustles
With everyones' rustles
Of living their own lives.
And she...
She waits, paralyzed.
Alyanne Cooper Jul 2015
He stood beside the fence post
At the edge of his land
Ready to give all or maybe just most
Of the crops he'd gathered by hand.
He stood under a crimson sky
Behind which the purple night
Chased, nipping at its heels.
And it was as if he could feel
The urgency of dark falling
And the day coming to its inevitable close.
His skin tingled with longing
As a waft of the summer night breeze hit his nose.
And he knew soon
He could go home.
And just when the moon
Appeared in the sky alone,
The man picked up a tune
With his lips and his crops with his hands
And proceeded to amble
Leisurely home.
Alyanne Cooper May 2014
He was the perfect height for her.
Tall enough that her head fell
Right tight under his sculpted chin
But not so tall that he was called "giant".

She was the perfect shape for him.
Not so skinny that he worried
About breaking her bones with a hug,
But curvy in all the places
That made him say a throaty "whoa".

She was a bookworm who loved TV.
He was a chef who loved Mac and Cheese.
They both adored animals,
Though he might have loved reptiles just a little too much.
And they both hated politics,
Though she might have set fire
To one too many campaign signs.

They argued about music, money, and kids.
They debated the merits of dancing in the rain.
They held hands in the moonlight,
And kissed at midday.
They grew old together and never strayed
Too far from the home they had built.

Then one day his chin wasn't high enough
For her head to fit snuggly below.
Her dresses, though comely,
No longer made him say "whoa".

But they still held hands and kissed
And remembered the days of their youth
When they were still learning
What being perfect for each other meant.

It wasn't until the night her heart gave out,
That she realized how he was perfect for her.
It wasn't his charm and dashing good looks,
Or his witty retorts and clever touchés,
But the simple fact
That through all of the years,
He loved her,
And that made him perfect for her.

It wasn't until she took her last breath,
That he understood how perfect she'd been.
She was perfect not because of her curves,
Her smile, her laugh, or her intelligence.
She was perfect for him because she loved him.

They'd been perfect in each other's eyes
Because love is blind.
And sometimes that's not a bad thing.
Alyanne Cooper Jun 2014
Remember when we used to play
With boxes and dolls all day
Making up stories with ridiculous names,
And never getting tired of this game?

We took ourselves to faraway lands
Where our fortunes were in our own hands,
And we could be the richest clown
Or the poorest chump in town.

Our worlds were rich and thick with lore.
Because nothing else mattered to us anymore
Except for the things we could dream in a day
Before we had to go in and stop our play.

Oh what times of great fun!
The imaginary worlds and tales we spun!
And when the moon rose through our windowpane,
I knew even then I couldn't complain,

For though as sisters we fought and battled,
And at the time, we may have seemed frazzled,
There was a certain unity we possessed,
Though it's existence we've never confessed.

We are very different people today.
We don't go off in backyards to play.
We work for our livings with measured stress
And sometimes in the midst get a bit depressed.

But what I'd like to change right now today
Before our adult lives get too underway
Is the forgetting of what used to be
When we needed each other terribly.

I may not need you to save me
Or fix me or change me
But I do still need you
For the occasional rescue.

Just like you used to take me away
In our backyard when we would play.
Alyanne Cooper Jun 2014
Take.
Your.
****.
Memories.
Outta.
My.
Head.
Alyanne Cooper Jul 2010
When days pass in slow succession,
And the comings and goings are all repetition,
My mind wanders aimlessly to
All the days I had in a bygone youth.

How my sisters and I were mischief incarnate,
How the vilest words we uttered were “**** it!”
How the world seemed bigger when we were small
And how I believed I had a chance at it all.

Friends who came, went and never left.
Beloved pets whose death made us bereft.
Homes we helped to build with our own hands.
Times when we dwelt in far away lands.

But there is always a catch in the back of my throat;
A wish that my thoughts could fully quote
A man whose poem is so finely crafted,
I’m convinced it was never once redrafted.

For it catches by its words in near perfection
The very soundtrack to all this: my reflection.
This particular poem is quiet and mellow;
It was written by a Mr Henry Longfellow.

I write it now for you below
That you may enjoy its beauty also.

“The day is cold, and dark, and dreary;
It rains,and the wind is never weary;
The vine still clings to the mouldering wall,
But at every gust the dead leaves fall,
And the day is dark and dreary.

My life is cold, and dark, and dreary;
It rains,and the wind is never weary;
My thoughts still cling to the mouldering past,
But the hopes of youth fall thick in the blast,
And the days are dark and dreary.

Be still, sad heart, and cease repining;
Behind the clouds is the sun still shining;
Thy fate is the common fate of all,
Into each life some rain must fall,
Some days must be dark and dreary.”
I wrote this poem because I couldn't stop thinking about Longfellow's poem.
Alyanne Cooper Aug 2015
I will gladly get ******

Stand as guardian and protectress
With sword and shield in hand
Readied to hew heads from bodies
Without batting an eye,

I will gladly get ******

Sear away with every ****
The humanity in my soul
So no one else need be soulless

I will gladly get ******

Rush the battlefield
In berserker fashion
Taking no prisoners,
Sparing no breaths,
Not even mine,

I will gladly get ******

If it means I keep them safe
In body and soul,
In life and limb,
In thought and future

I will gladly get ******
If it keeps them away from you.

YOU were supposed to bear this role

But you bore us
Only to abandon us.

So now we take up the mantle,
We must protect
Our sisters, our family, our self,

From you.
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