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22.4k · Nov 2015
So It Won't Leave Me
Sarah Michelle Nov 2015
Holding on to the
product of hard work as if
it will ever leave.
14.6k · Mar 2015
Scene 3: Adolescence
Sarah Michelle Mar 2015
Teen sits in his room
reflecting on the walls and tables
Sometimes this place is a cafe
and is a little bit unstable
Crosses his legs,
forgets the dread,
self-hood brings him back
from the troubles inside his head
Take his hand, lead him out the door,
stoke his fire a little bit more

Adolescence be free
Sweet adolescent boy, come back to me

Rests his head
upon the floor,
even the most grotesque things
won't bug him anymore
Young man doesn't watch them dance,
he knows he must grow his own steps before
they slip through his fingertips

Adolescence be free
Sweet adolescent boy, come back to me

Young man, be your own man
You're halfway there, so don't disappear
The cafe is crowded,
yet you're not alone, not stuck in one place
like a drone
You move across the room, bright and tall,
and never again going to fall
Like you did the day before
your soul returned to just being a kid


you are adolescent.
11.0k · Mar 2015
A Goodnight Note
Sarah Michelle Mar 2015
Don't leave me loving you
Here alone
***** my finger, at least,
and lull me to sleep
before you go.
Imagining what it'd be like to arrive home after a date.
9.8k · May 2015
Sarah Michelle May 2015
Sometimes your face is
a little blurred, but then you
have a little fun
8.5k · Oct 2016
Sweater Season
Sarah Michelle Oct 2016
Sweaters may be bad for
lonesome people. Mind you, they don't
make up for a lack of

caresses. They heat the soul;
loose ones make it flirty. But no
cashmere can kiss your neck.
6.3k · Apr 2014
Lover of All Things Vintage
Sarah Michelle Apr 2014
I know of a girl who dreads the New Year
Because it steals her away
from poodle-skirts and telephones
And all that is long gone
Drags her across the floor by her ankles
while she sobs
as though she'd known the era's
4.8k · Aug 2014
Sarah Michelle Aug 2014
Fratellino's rock collection
turned into flower petals.
      Madre has a portrait of him
putting them in his hair, turning into Sorellina instead.
Fratellino-- Italian word for "little brother". Sorellina means "little sister". Madre is "mother".
Attenuare--Italian; "to soften".
4.5k · Sep 2014
Haiku for the Boy
Sarah Michelle Sep 2014
I will change your life,
your pensive rendezvous, and
that poppy-seed lean.
4.5k · May 2015
Paper Tiger
Sarah Michelle May 2015
All you are doing
is telling death how to die
I already know
4.4k · Apr 2014
The Dove
Sarah Michelle Apr 2014

Burn a dove's heart in your--
Serve it to me
in a saucer of tea.
"May your smiles fade to red
& green, sire."
The page will say.
In reply.
And like that our love will die
Sarah Michelle Oct 2016
Little boxes where the
sky ends and the skyscrapers start
and lights fill the heart
3.2k · Aug 2014
Sarah Michelle Aug 2014
Boys play football in my heart
Their ball falls in a canal in
It's lost in
Venezia because I closed my eyes,
Guidebook in hand--
Phrasebook at my side--
Dictionary omnipresent somehow--

Mother calls them inside, it's time to learn again.
Momentaneamente--"at present"
3.2k · Aug 2016
Bath Bomb
Sarah Michelle Aug 2016
I would like to bathe in a
greenhouse away from the sun, flowers
in the lavender water
3.1k · May 2015
Taj Mahal
Sarah Michelle May 2015
What a strange feeling
Treading across the Taj Mahal
Floor as it look back at me
2.9k · Oct 2016
Sarah Michelle Oct 2016
Venice is cyan
in the soft, early morning
The canals look clean
2.9k · Jun 2014
Grave Danger
Sarah Michelle Jun 2014
Went to the grave
this past Memorial Day
and saw it was covered
with mud.

With but a dish rag,
didn't exactly leave a shine
behind them, walking
away as they massaged
their own aching backs.
Otherwise they could,
I don't know,
massage the backs that
are already broken.

"Don't graveyards have
maintenance-people for that?"

They are humble.
They like not to be known.
Finally write a poem a couple days ago. I'm back!
Sarah Michelle Jul 2016
The universe is suede and black pepper--
a subtle aroma like coffee in a cafe. It's accompanied by
clean laundry air-drying a few miles away. But when
preoccupied with dancing like a blur,
it smells like a drunk. Wine is spilled on the laundry.
A party consumes the land.
The seasoning is mixed into a soup that will never be eaten,
because everyone is too busy
enjoying themselves too much.
The universe's leather shoes are kicked to the wings.
2.8k · Aug 2016
Sarah Michelle Aug 2016
A crow dares to mourn his
loneliness after he failed to
commit to his ******

And the flamingo dares
to say to all her flamboyance,
"Your feathers may not shine

as luminous as my
own," while the magpies standby and
enjoy their lives too much.
2.8k · Jun 2015
Gli Animali
Sarah Michelle Jun 2015
And for a moment I'm a gazelle
who hasn't yet fallen
to a lion's teeth
For the night I give in
to the stampede
and--this time for good--keep going

Going, going,
wind beaten as a sailor,
though I may be
flying the way a peacock does
(It's only a feeling, like peace is to a dove)

Let me say something
about the animals--
they keep going, too
They keep going for us
(I am no vegetarian, but sometimes,
instead of meat, I only need
to eat dust.)

For the same reason, I go on
until fed to something larger
than this small person inside
And, like an animal, I don't ever
feel the need to cry
2.8k · Apr 2015
Sarah Michelle Apr 2015
Lemonade colored
sky becoming green. I know,
though I wonder why.
Drunk one summer evening
2.8k · Jun 2015
Sarah Michelle Jun 2015
Ribbons calling against the wind,
stronger than our fences.
   Ribbons crawling to our feet
speak of our potential--
   They break our defenses
Might be a love poem.
2.7k · Feb 2015
Sarah Michelle Feb 2015
This door leads you right
where you are.
Scents and sights arriving
here are affirmation
of dying chemistry
between you and the world;
Therefore you sense them
stronger than man ever
has. Prophecies melt for
this inhuman moment, not
Unfamiliar to your spirit.

The Barista cooks you a
liquid meal, a brat hums
your favorite tune, but the
aftermath is they all leave.

Through a door which leads
them back again.

Daughter, son
Whatever  sensation
keeps them here with me
keeps you standing
Ungasping, in need of
Gasping. A goner,
secret front-runner
This door leads you right
to yourself.
Scents and sensations
locked in our fish-eyes
Relinquish blindness, as is
your job.
2.7k · Oct 2016
Sarah Michelle Oct 2016
They are here every
morning, tripping down the stairs,
laughing, repairing
2.6k · Apr 2014
April Showers
Sarah Michelle Apr 2014
Blossoms look better in the rain;
reaching into black mist and white wind,
singing like a deaf woman

I'll marry any man who agrees
It's raining. I love it.
2.3k · Sep 2016
The Puddles
Sarah Michelle Sep 2016
The puddles swim in
themselves and the droplets flirt
amongst each other
2.2k · Aug 2015
Sarah Michelle Aug 2015
Every night was tortellini
when were roommates.

I complained about my chapped feet;
you bought me the wrong socks.
Black, mens, I clarified,
but you kept buying the women's.
Then one day you got it right,
only they were for you
because black is a warmer color than white,
and the socks of a man felt like cherubs.

I complained about my chapped feet,
you the heart of the world,
its cold silence.
But we remained "alright".
You bought new pajamas every night
and painted a beauty mark on your face
to match.

Years of x-marked places on our bodies
which no one saw because
we were cynics,
I the most.
No roses at our mat--we grew our own bushes,
ordered the ones with the extra thorns.
I charmed that snake,
you bit me on its behalf.
That I'd do such a thing
was shameful.

We were girlfriends in a can of salt,
tears in our eyes, mouths and ears.
We drank wine in bubble baths in our clothes
for three days straight,
or even four,
after that guy dumped you.

From then on
every night was tortellini,
La Dolce Vita, and--

and the freckle below your ear,
the horns growing from my forehead,
the way your falsies touched your cheeks,
late nights looking brighter
than they should,
than they normally would.
Pretending to be goddesses awaiting their gods--

while I awaited you.

Then you felt them too,
touched my head as though it were a fever.
I always knew you hated the suburbs,
and I did listen
when you complained about the gray rooftops
and the saturated green lawns--
"Give them a chance, please.
Then we'll get away--"
I begged, I relented--

The wine, finally, fermented.
You remember what I said next,
because after that you broke my heart.
I never doubted it was a bad idea
to say it

but I said it
and you left.
A love story. Not personal.
2.1k · Jun 2014
He (2)
Sarah Michelle Jun 2014
nearly died today
because his 30 second-old love
couldn't stay,
The ruby red
bird winged
Merman of His Dream.

His heart attacked
his very own watered lungs,
The tears
which stopped his heart
like a sneeze.

He prayed, "Please."

The hospital bed Lord didn't reply,  and
He felt the plump nurses were
telling him
Return of the sad, lonely, strange Frenchman of my daydreams.
2.1k · Feb 2015
London Fog Coat
Sarah Michelle Feb 2015
Rekindling of spirit
(folding in, billowing out)
with which we end the
I dare you to
leave me.
The sun begs you to stay--
Give him the week off!
He needs a dozen
Whiskey, gin, Pinot Grigio,
the whole lot!
He deserves a

And so the London Fog
Coat and tea in hand,
thrown onto the mesh ground
tea arriving on cue--
Shallowed issues gone
Heart-screams louder
than the heart-worms
awash across the sidewalk

dark like

London Fog
Holds me tight
2.0k · Dec 2014
Sarah Michelle Dec 2014
Hundreds of orders behind but never
Never quite
out of business. I cut my finger often
but my carvings are cut, always
must be.
I owe the people wooden hearts
to call their own.
And I owe myself a living,
living with clocks and statues and cabinets
for some purpose
known by God.
"wood carving"
Sarah Michelle Feb 2015
Soufflé light massages my eyes
A cool oven breeze puts out the lies
I am a Goner,
no lives

Lived this day as
boredom gallops through.
Its hooves are in need of a deep clean
They don't allow the light to gleam.
So the light lets off steam

Horses halt, dragging thief feet in hope
of defeating this power,
wishing the paper would jam

But the sun, though none the wiser,
paints the walls and the faces.
Cooks a most creative meal.
Brings the stampede to a kneel.
Describing my intense boredom, anxiety and lack of inspiration.
2.0k · Apr 2015
Won't Be Long (Part One)
Sarah Michelle Apr 2015
Do what you know is right
The fae-eyed stare
Pulls you outward
Thank them for the cool air
Brushing your feverish hair
Stop walking
Sit down before the world
Falls on your shoulders

I care enough to
bake a batch of innocence
before I go and
I struggle with my sweaters
everytime that it snows
And some days are more
than others, yes I'm not
often present in front
of the mirror
But give me a little time
to buy new furniture
And put things back
where they belong
Won't be long

I will swim without falling
I'll be able to observe
strangers while sitting
on a park bench
without being accused
of stalking

I can pause
for comedic timing [thank you, thank you]
maybe I'll have a new
best friend who I can
make out with
strings attached
And he'll like my hair
( much as I do)
people will say things
and really fathom
their words
They're wrong--
Won't be long

I have a little fun
I get to see someone
fall in love
we crash and dance and
burn simultaneously
as if dying after living
only a short time
that felt long
I die alone but maybe
a bit happy on the side
Then until
I live again

You say to yourself,
"Do what you know is right
and hang strife from the sun"
How do I know when I've
("Won" is just a letter
and an apostrophe from
And that's the funny thing
The future hasn't
met us yet, but it knows
how to play games)
Here's the perfect analogy
ever created:
To reach the answer
is to dig down down down
to china!

Yet doesn't it feel like
a daydream?
Like befriending your
favorite celebrity or perhaps
even seeing the end
of a war begun before
your lifetime

When all you can do is

Sit down, stop walking
before the future clutches
your arms, pressing
This is when you pull outward
and away.
You stare with those
unblinking, glassy eyes
who look omnipotent because
you're middle-aged and
they contain the
words from your wild youth.
(And with these words I can say
'I love you', future which I
will come to know.)

The closet which is warm
and cautious
has enough goals to drive-by
Hit-and-run ridding of
the winning that I live by
I struggle to walk in flip-flops
in the summer
But remind me that I'm
somewhat lost and I enjoy it,
sort of, once in a while,
Especially when everything
comes together again
A several-part poem about the future, and maybe about artistry. A serious project, for once
1.9k · Jun 2015
Sarah Michelle Jun 2015
Tuesday's got a broken hot rod
It drives too slow, or doesn't go
Tuesday's got a lazy day ahead,
has creativity at best
has no productivity
but many things to arrest
And she's not only a loner
driving on a road,
she just doesn't want an answer
wants to keep her glow
Where is it?
Not where she thinks it is
Not in the trunk
not in the birdcage with the canary
not in the pistol in her kiss
Where is Tuesday going?
Not to Wednesday, that's for sure
Thursday's daydream makes her
unable to settle down anymore
She smiles, the sun is setting
If only Tuesday could learn to fix
that broken hot rod already
Open to feedback
1.9k · Apr 2016
Inner Strength
Sarah Michelle Apr 2016
A flower bending
in the wind doesn't actually
yield, though it seems so
1.8k · Mar 2015
Sarah Michelle Mar 2015
Stuck to the wall
with a pirate cringe, positivity illegal as sin
good vibes that almost hurt
like a wife-beater's undershirt
Tough to clean, hard to keep
even when the ground is getting steep
going up

They say it doesn't slam, gives you chance
it lays the land ahead
But I find the blue skies like to turn scarlet
and slip faithless from my wake
It's all me, all me
driving a stake through every chance I get

At regaining decorum--
which is hard to keep, tough to clean
after a massacre, a true disaster
The lawful bickers
of a girl curling in disgust because...

Because positivity feels counter-productive
Not to mention a little too...


These words are brought to you by a petty fit,
not a frolick, nor even
a moment of in-betweenness--
A ******-darling particulate fire
going up

I'm a lost soul, fingers cold
Stuck to the wall and let out a pirate cringe--
why don't you--
satisfy me with positivity legal as sin
Give me those good vibes, make them hurt
like a lover's wife's lacy undershirt
Nice and clean, hard to keep
especially when you're in. Too. Deep.
But you're only going up.
From. Here.
1.7k · May 2015
Pretty Girls
Sarah Michelle May 2015
To take an image
Cut it open, step into
A pretty coven
1.7k · Nov 2015
Pink Heather
Sarah Michelle Nov 2015
I want to write a story called
Pink Heather
about a soul that felt blue
A girl not yet herself,
an entirely wrong hue
1.6k · Jan 2016
You Had a Long Day
Sarah Michelle Jan 2016
Eyes are sensitive
Heart is foul on the outside
But you are moving on
1.6k · Jun 2015
Suggestion Poem
Sarah Michelle Jun 2015
I'm not going to be able to see you soon
I love it when you get a new song
And the rest of my favorite thing about it is not the same thing as the first place we went
The fact is that I don't know if you want me
The fact is the best way
For a long day
Is to make it so hard for us to reconcile

I'm not sure how I can see you soon
The only person who has been in my head
Hurts like the new version
Of a sudden urge to watch something burn
I love it when people are going out
I love it when I'm not going to be able
To see my friends and the other day
I didn't even get a job
Like I said I had
A poem built from the word suggestions above the keyboard on my iPod touch. Whatever those are called.
1.6k · Oct 2016
Untitled 2
Sarah Michelle Oct 2016
He wears a cloak of
water that hides his rough skin,
handsome as it is
1.6k · Apr 2015
Hegemony on the Steamboat
Sarah Michelle Apr 2015
It's alienation across the nation.

End of the break
the whistle's blowing
The sailors going only a short way
to heavens
Subterranean souls, yet
extraterrestrial minds
(I want to have a magnificent, celestial time)
Someone is dead
True, someone might be
curled in dread, somewhere
But the staff chooses not to
voice these concerns
to their guests

to a place where their veins
don't show up blue
under that black light, yellow
It's a dalliance for souls
(They are all lost.)
A denouement for souls
(How much does it cost?)

Better question,
who sends them here
(Every zephyr is cold)
who sends them here
to die and behold?
If I had a friend
they would ask,
"Why so alone?"
Because I move with the

Tintinnabulation across the nation.
People saying the most
Like the nation
I fear I have become
an *imbrication

repeating myself in every
Working on that steamboat
isn't as good as it gets
Saccharine, summery lake
Do we, perhaps, need to escape?

And, perhaps, we can.

Dominated as we are
by Society, who is crying in need
Believes we must be a
1.5k · May 2014
Pride in Poetry
Sarah Michelle May 2014
Let the world know that poetry
is great.
There is passion in its rough, gilded grooves
(I've seen it all)
Dance shoes under
(I've tried them on)
And overall, wicked smiles
(they have shown on my face).

I've read the Alice blue tears of a grown man
lined up like a tree so that
each line is a branch.
I've read all the things
that you think don't love each other,
but they simply do.
Poetry loves you--people and poems are
just the perfect
dance partners.
I've seen it all--

I've seen that crazy look
on a poet's face.
It is the best form of every thing
which is only tangible

through a poem.
An English assignment.
1.5k · Apr 2014
Sarah Michelle Apr 2014
He writes poems
the way he chooses what to wear in the morning
He does these two things like a child
learning Spanish, and he loves the language
very much, so why does it matter?
He feels at home
because Summer is eternal, being
the onions he hides under his floorboards
under his bed
He says, "They smell like shastas."
In class I was imagining this very relaxed and strange guy. Later I'll make this longer, maybe.
1.5k · Jul 2016
Sweet Pea and Moonlight Path
Sarah Michelle Jul 2016
Clicking their way forward and back,
Flip-flopping into or hearts
If a girl can con money
Out of their fathers’ pockets,
who’s to say
They can’t sway politicians?
Their lips kiss pictures.

Pictures of cannabis leaves, yellow and smiling
They live until they die,
don’t live until they’re married
And if they don’t find what they want,
what else do they need
besides a crowd of fellow millennials
Caring, caring?

Caring about cannabis’ rights
and the right to carry a GBF,
their money, their frame
and, above all, pepper spray
These girls are the new
honest, hard-working man,
Their sweet scent is coming.

Sweet pea and Moonlight Path.
the top-selling fragrances at
Bath and Body Works
Their battle-cry is only
as loud as their looks
Daisy dukes and Katy Perry
whispering, “What the hell is she wearing?

She dons thin, rose-gold underwear
and she’s lazy yet keyed-up
in her own skin
Her lovers are all the same
but she blames all men.
Her wings are Pink,
they protect her from catcalls.
1.5k · Apr 2014
Night Writing
Sarah Michelle Apr 2014
I love these lines
I hate their stops
I love these words
I hate their last letters,
pirouetting like French kisses

They say, "So now it's done. Goodnight,
I love you.
Break that pencil in half,
now throw it away.
See you next time
The Demon
wants to stay.
You look so neat dressed in jewels
that complete you."
1.5k · Aug 2014
Sarah Michelle Aug 2014
I first saw the wheat in the morning,
smelled the wind blustering forth--
Wondered that it must taste like
that very morning, in what complex way crops do.

And when the bear-locusts eat them,
what they would say
if they bled pans of gold to romance their amber,
if only then
would they be jubilant
if only on their death beds!

"Don't admire the fields," says Agricoltore.
"Because they like--they don't change."
Soffermare--"to rest one's gaze" or "to dwell on".
Agricoltore--Italian word for "farmer".
1.5k · Mar 2015
The Wall
Sarah Michelle Mar 2015
The wall isn't white in the evening light
Has an old pair of shoes
that carries it down
Has a plethora of posters
to mask its frown

And it reflects the day's work as it shines**
Dull as it goes into the night
the wall becomes white again
wears away my fright, I win
I get a stress-ache everyday 1-5 pm. It makes me hate sunsets.
1.4k · Mar 2015
Scene 1
Sarah Michelle Mar 2015
A girl wishes the wind
would blow the hair off her scalp
Strong and abrasive, it
struggles with her like a friend
hoping to get a little peace and quiet
For once would she just relax,
enjoy some Tonight Show,
some Late Night
and step out of the penitent
date nights.
Disjointed scenes I get stuck in my head sometimes
1.4k · Jul 2016
Take a Risk
Sarah Michelle Jul 2016
Trouble has its own number.
This prank would be funnier
if you were by my side
1.4k · Dec 2014
Sarah Michelle Dec 2014
Describe It accurately


And give It a twirl of hair and boho skirt

Describe It once

with love full of hatred or


Until your arms & legs

Shiver, until your gemmed rings


to pieces

Until, when your glossy

fingernails melt, a monster's

heart burns with sympathy.

Call It on the phone, don't

apologize if you hadn't


the right

A stream-of-consciousness poem about expression.
1.3k · Nov 2014
Description of a Friend
Sarah Michelle Nov 2014
Sea captain who brings with him an air of comfort,
first mate, confetti egg shell,
metal-framed reservoir.
Cradle my head, pull my hand,
Solve the equation for me. Don't.
Be my carriage horse. Roam free.
Burn the papers. Lock them away.
Join the feast. Serve us, **** the beast.

Begot, begetter
A stain-glass window, more like a painting
wet with thinner.
Broken calculator, hard-to-getter.
Man the weather--man the ship. Don't, I can do it myself.
Hideous, antique bird-feeder
favoring the magpies above all and doves the least.
Join the feast. Let us leave the little
beast alone, they've done nothing truly bad! because
Just a little cut doesn't hurt.
As long as the blood doesn't spurt.
As long as Sylvia is my dead friend.

As long as you're an indescribable friend,
always there among the bramble
of the old flower field, abandoned long ago.
In the 30s.

Sea captain who brings sun, my
first mate of all singing first mates, of
all operatic dancers.
Dance with me.
10-14 stream of consciousness poem.
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