Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
 Jul 2014 Alysia Michelle
Chris
I remember every metaphor I used for you.
It’s beautiful how quickly I ran out.
It was just so difficult to describe
a forest at the bottom of an ocean on fire.
You were soft,
I was quiet.
I remember every park bench,
every broken sidewalk,
every open sky.
It was so whole.
I remember breathing,
and the lovely amount of effort it required.
I hope you do too.
They say writers remember the important things;
I say they are liars.
I remember you wore a purple flannel
the first time I saw you,
even though it isn’t your favorite colour.
I remember that you take your coffee black,
and your tea with plenty of honey.
I remember the way your eyes changed colour
based on the weather,
and the way you looked at the sky,
like it was endless.
You were endless.
I remember everything you taught me.

They say writers remember the important things;
I remember you.
 Jul 2014 Alysia Michelle
Chris
Don’t breathe deeply.
It’s exhausting.
Trust me, I’ve tried.
I think a lot about
how much strength trees have,
and if they have any extra
I can borrow.
I think a lot about
how if I don’t go to sleep,
I won’t have to wake up tomorrow.
 Jun 2014 Alysia Michelle
Chris
These things happen I suppose.
They always happen.
I used to care about something, you know.
I did.
I used to feel something when I stared at the sky.
Now the hardwood feels cold under my feet,
and my lungs have lost their warmth.
The clouds eat me whole as I walk home.
They smile.
Sometimes I do too.
But I've wandered too far this time,
these steps don't look familiar.
Someone still sleeps inside this house,
but it's not me.
Someone still lives inside these bones,
but it's not me.
 Jun 2014 Alysia Michelle
Chris
I drove past your house yesterday
and wondered if you still remember
how I look,
sound,
feel.
Foolish, I know.
It's so beautifully arrogant though,
how you still demand to be felt.
Dirt roads and green rivers
Separate our friendship
But no amount of
Hitch hiking is too much
To keep me from
Falling asleep holding
Your hand
I will cross through fields
And over mountains
Just to have your company
On these Saturday afternoons
When I'm left alone
And missing you
h.w. I miss you terribly Molly
Her aura froze into my mind and possessed me,
when I saw her I saw nothing but love,
I would pour my soul out at her feet,
And could drink her attention for an eternity.

I caught her one day,
myself embodied by lust,  
and truly analyzed her reflection,  
She was every bit the Greek goddess I'd envisioned,
but without any spirit.

She was no warrior, no goddess controlling any aspect of the universe around her,
Her majestic locks were sun-kissed,
Her smile as luminescent as the moon,
Her physique truly touched by the gods she walked amongst,
she could compare to no other mortal being,
but beyond the aesthetic poetry that she embodied,
she was  as good as darkness.

She seemed to have stolen my life, my light,
taken away the sun, the stars, and the moon from me,
she engulfed them to create such beauty,
but having done so, there was no light left to shine upon her.

She was Medusa disguised as Aphrodite.
She knew the language of love, but not the content.
She turned my carcass to stone, so that she could steal my light,
And under her spell, i could do nothing but let her.
I wrote a few poems awhile ago for a friend and thought i should post them.
She could stand alongside the Gods,
with her Greek and imposing figure.
She seemed to know the true meaning of grace,
grazing asphalt with her presence.
Her gentle legs brought upon silent admiration,
her cinched waist accentuating hidden curves,
it was as if her body held a soft prowess,
dominating the art of anatomy.
This statuesque beauty held no shame in her step,
she was rhythmic and lyrical,
I couldn't keep my eyes off.
I wrote a few poems awhile ago for a friend and thought i should post them.  
Most were incomplete and thrown together, but hope you enjoy.
Next page