Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Aspen Jan 2013
Eyes darting wildly about the room,
He catches sight of the exit door.
With a burst of energy, he barrels forward,
Freedom just within his grasp.
The nurses chase after him madly,
Flailing about and hollering “Stop!”
His movements swift, he continues to run,
Escape too tantalizing to ignore.
The cold touch of the door handle excites him,
And he jerks the gateway open with great force.
Releasing the handle,
He steps out into an unforeseen world with eyes closed.
For a moment his mind wanders free,
Anxious to experience this new life
Weak from anticipation, his eyelids flutter open
Revealing the desolate dystopia before him.
The sight breaks his heart
As all dreams drain from the face of our man.
He drops his desires to the ground,
And turns dejectedly back to the doorway
Turning the handle again, he steps back inside
Weak with his enlightenment he stumbles,
Down on his knees on the linoleum flooring
He lets out a shriek and the nurses come running,
And he falls
Accepting the familiar warmth of the clinic.
Aspen Feb 2012
I’m alone, but it’s okay.
I’ll find someone another day.
As much as I complain,
Or pretend I don’t care,
I’ll admit that I do, and end the conversation there.
These days by myself haven’t been so bad,
In time I’ve forgotten that I’m supposed to be sad.
I’m content where I am and I’m enjoying the ride,
But I guess there’s still loneliness, deep down inside.
But don't interrupt my silence, please just let me be.
Because right now has a name, and its called, "Single Me"
                  I guess that's just the way, it's simply meant to be.
Aspen Nov 2011
I am
"the quiet one"
in the class.


or if I whisper...
will you be hanging on every word,
trying to put my mysterious character together like the pieces of a puzzle

Regardless of my volume I still go unnoticed
My name is not heard except when followed by
"__is so shy"
etc, etc, etc."

Despite my agreeable demeanor
Acceptance is the prize trophy that I've been working for my entire career
only to see it scooped up effortlessly by a rookie.

All I want is someone to care about what I have to say or how I feel.

But that's all that anyone wants.
That's all that anyone has ever truly wanted in this life, no?
Aren't we all just hopeless romantics, drowning in a sea of passions, confusions,
broken hearts, and drunken brains?

I am no different; no more exciting than any person walking the halls
So tell me what can I do
other than submit to exist in this lonely, pathetic predicament?

I am
"the quiet one"
because I have nothing to say,
but because
no one
will bear to hear me.
inspired by the style and harshness of spoken word poetry.
Aspen May 2011
I'm standing here
and I'm watching the storm pass over
Still seeing the sparks of lightning
as they drift further and further away
Still feeling a twinge of pain
with every distant rumble
And I take a deep breath
and I close my eyes
And realize
That I'm safe and
its finally, finally over.
And a bird flies silently, overhead, out of the clouds, and I know,
That I'm free.
Aspen Apr 2011
its spring-
when all you can hear
is the SLAP
of flip
laughing down the hallway.

its spring-
when the upperclassmen
for weeks
about prom.
while the underclassmen
simply wishing to run away
into summer

its spring-
when its seems like
grades and exams are
the only thing
that's on everyone's mind
(besides prom),
and the quiet girl
in the back of the classroom
stares out the window
at the flower petals dropping from the trees...

its spring-
when people who
think that life
is completely hopeless,
and have had
one of the worst
-no, THE worst-
winters of their life,
out of nowhere:
find some hope.

because its spring.
and spring is just the beginning
all over again.
Aspen Apr 2011
it hung like a sack of potatoes
hung; looking simply heavy.

many people came in the room
saying                                what
a                                        shame
what a                              shame
what                               a shame
what a shame shame shame...

They stood there
all                   just
looking    up
together.      up!
look                  up!
look                      up.

the women were
just                  crying
and                  the men
tried to comfort them.

    for a very long
     a soul did
except stare up...

After a long while, they slowly
try to untie the ropes,
sobbing over the lifeless...
This is just a freaky brainchild of mine. Its meant to use both the structure of the stanza and the specific-to-the-situation imagery to tell a story. Each six line stanza is in the shape of a capital letter. Hopefully it teases your brain a little bit, and even leaves you speechless.
Aspen Apr 2011
I will be running around my room
Worrying, and frantically trying to get ready
Because I  will need to be perfect.

I will be wearing red,
because Seventeen magazine will say that
its the color that guys like the most on a girl.

I will put on lip gloss,
because mama will say that lipstick, is too ******,
while lip gloss speaks innocent, yet seductive.

I will stare in the mirror forever and debate:
hoop earrings? or danglies?
I will finally decide on my zipper earrings; danglies.
Only because they will show my quirky side,
and they won't give the impression of trying too hard,
like my big zebra stripe hoops could.

I will hide my 3-inch heels just partially
under the cuffs of my dark blue jeans.

Looking at the clock will get me nervous,
so I will try to calm myself down by focusing on
applying that perfect swipe of eyeliner...

And all too suddenly,
There will be a beep from the street outside,
and I will look out the window from the safety of my bedroom
to see him in his pick-up, waiting.

Daddy will say cautiously,
that a boy with more character
would come to the door.
But I won't be listening.
I'll be replaying my mantra in my head,
"He's different, he'll be special."
I will have convinced myself
that my parents will see the good in him...

And I will be out the door,
And on my way to his car,

And I'll trip.

And he'll laugh...

And I'll look back at my parents in the doorway,
one last time,
before turning once more and getting into the car...

And months later,
I'll look back on that moment and think,
That right then and there,
From the very beginning,
I should've known.
This poem was originally written in present tense, but I revised to be in future tense to give it a more emotion and a more ominous feel.
Next page