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when the sun turned purple
our secrets fell out of our lips
by 7, our bedsheets became forts
my fears came like rain, dissolving into your fingertips

at 8, the bluejays sang outside your kitchen window
“are they mocking miles davis?”
speak like velvet
“if you listen hard enough.”
feelings of linen

by 10, we are alone
you speak of heaven
while i watch heaven speaking to me

it was a sunday when you asked me to live outside the city
“the only thing that would exist would be me, you, and time.”
those words convinced me
“do you think time becomes slower out there?”
“out there, time can stand still. you just need to stop for a second, and look.”

when 12 arrives, the trees become louder
autumn winds crackle
window panes shutter
“do you think wind would be scarier if we could see it?”
“it would only make it easier to hide from.” i say
“i hope the bluejays are okay.”

at 2, we see the moon
spilt upon a September sky, waning
your father died when it was full
“remember that poster that used to hang in your school wall?
Shoot for the moon. Even if you miss, you'll land among the stars.
i hope he landed on a star.”

the clouds flood above our heads at 3,
we are between bedsheets
the moon curtained by cloves of gray
“we should have let the bluejays in.”

when it turned 4, we conspire shadows of animals on our wall
rabbits dogs and wolves danced amongst framed stills
“what if we’re just shadows of God’s hands?” i ask
“if i’m a shadow, then you’re the light.”

we count thunderclaps until we forget what time it is
until it stops
they become echoes
clouds break apart
we stay close

you walk out to the porch
“poor thing”
“it’s like a piece of the sky fell out.”
its wings lay at attention
“do you think we could have saved it?”
“we can’t destroy ourselves for the things we could have saved.”
“we could have let him in.”
“yeah, we could have.”

at 6, the sky turned orange
the clouds pallet mixtures of purple and violet
i like to think there was no space for blue in the sky for the bluejay
i search for any trace of cerulean or aqua
the only blue i could find was lifeless on the ground

“what do you think happened?”
“maybe it was trying to shoot for the moon.”

you ask if there was a way we could bury it in the sky
it’s unfair to bury something so brightly blue in the dirt
we spend the rest of the sunset searching above us for blue
we watched orange dissolve into the violent violet night sky
we stay outside looking at the stars

perhaps the rest of the bluejays managed to make it to the moon
some may have landed on the stars
i want to believe that this still-blue on the ground is just a shadow
i have never felt more shaded
we were all shadows
shadows of something much bigger.
For the longest time
I did everything by myself.
Only dividing myself by one.

Before us,
I would hear only but the rustling of leaves
against my heel.

I never thought of the word “Hello”
as a lightning rod before,
waiting for a spark.

Without you,
I only saw the gaps between my hands as just
empty spaces.

I believe we were always waiting to be added.
X’s looking to be found.
One thing leading to another.

When I was just one,
enough was always just enough.
I never saw the sky as something the sun swallowed.

I never saw dead-ends
as a place to find each other.
But a gathering for the lost.

When we collided
We were everything at once.
Multiplying what we both had.

We would step upon the autumn leaves
and bring about igniting cannon *****
brushing against our soles.

We were a sun shower
Clear enough to see but
ravenous amongst the painted orange clouds.

I never knew my hands could be filled
with your shampooed hair
against the thicket of my palms

After our showers we heard waterfalls
Before it was just water against my skin
falling into place

Before our silence
I heard our hearts beating.

During everything
I learned nothing.

Along the way,
I was complete.
I literally got out of the shower today and felt like writing this poem. I stole the title from the poem After Making Love We Hear Footsteps by Galway Kinnell however the theme and structure of that poem does not lend itself to the one I’ve written today.

The poet begins describing his life as taking one thing at a time, where things are simple and not filled with imagery, but once this person comes into his life things become more than what they seem.

It’s a simple, straight-forward poem that doesn’t use too many huge and broad metaphors but at the same time the reader can see how life can become a lot more beautiful and vibrant once we find a person to do that for us.
196 lb
average male weight
ego not included

156 lb
average female weight
although one spoken sentence hits like a ton of bricks

20 lb
unsaid words,
searing, left in your throat

10 lb
“It won’t happen again”
guns for vocal chords

40 lb
a dead car battery

25 lb
for every bullet he left inside her spirit

a scale says 167 pounds
body mass measured
heavy heart unaccounted

19.30 g
roughly the weight of a wedding ring
she’s seen three removed from three different fingers

1.5 g
enough for six rotations
enough to feel zero

1.5 oz
enough for a shot
take six to feel a hundred

10 million tons
the weight of a star

10 million tons
the thought of her

we are loaded


the weight we carry is not the
numbers on the scale
we are much more than the pounds we gain
the aches that we hold
the tears that did not fall

living with a hallowed heart does not make it any less heavier

these light words were not meant for these paper limbs
gravity could care less

we are pressured
until broken

built strong
lasts shortly
bulldozed by just one fallowed swoop
we are demolished

you could build your vessel as ravenous and as merciless as you can
only to be held down by the world
we are defied

we are
I was once a boy who believed in words dipped in magic
Carefully coated with sugar
From a distance, they shimmered
whispered fog in its wake
surgically dipped into your heart at hummingbird speed
these sweet tender words were easy to swallow
however leaves a burning hole in your chest once it finds shelter in your body.
Even though your lips produced sweet words
I could never get the sour taste out of my mouth
The most you could have done was give me something to wash it down with:
the leftover tears in Samantha Thompson’s eyes
above Wedgefield’s polluted night sky
somewhere in the middle of an empty field inside his pickup truck
between the words I’m and Sorry
the cleanest and most deceitful of them all
I doubted every word.
I never cared much for the empty spaces between the lines of college-ruled paper
They are only meant to be filled with even emptier phrases
If I could, I wouldn’t fill in any spaces in the time we were together
It would only make our story much more incredulous
Adding more would make us less real.
Two hearts in love need no words
but in reality, you did most of the talking
The ***** blanket of faith
is a cocoon of words shared only between you and him.
We, however, were alien to this Earth
We dissolved amongst the shadows of light
produced from lampposts, only to be thrown back into the light
whether or not you wanted to show me who you really were
You always fancied yourself in artificial lighting compared to natural lighting
Fearing the natural light would show the colors you only kept to yourself.
Lovebug ran to each light as quickly as he could
for these lampposts can only cover so much of the unknown
We’ll be together forever
He ran to each one until he was alone
Until he couldn’t find himself
Each shadow that was passed before can be seen, traced
however his new reflection is indiscernible
You can try your hardest to look into dry puddles
only to find something that is not so concrete.
The only words worth believing in are the ones that are burnt slowly afterward
Entre deux coeurs qui s’aiment, nul besoin de paroles.
But no matter how much the lampposts grow taller,
or how the spaces between ruled-paper continue to dance, the word
love will always be the easiest word to swallow
but the hardest to digest once it rots in the thick of your stomach.
Alright, so for this poem my professor handed us a numbered outline that described what each sort of verse or couplet should contain. It looked a bit like:

1. Must contain a metaphor

2. Write a line that seems impossible

3. Write a line for each of the five senses

and so on, and so forth.

This poem handles with the way we swallow/hear words and how people and time seem to change it. It stems a lot from my other piece The Definition of Us, but this piece is much more… bitter.

I wish I could have gotten the complete listing of the poem structure, but these poems are called “Just Let It Go” poems, where it’s not so much the content is theme, but just letting go and just writing something off the top of your head is the main reason why as to why these poems are written the way they are.
The heart pumps
beats, fast and slow
opens, to the wrong people
closes, to the people who open their hearts to you
The heart is flexible,
however, breaks the easiest
it is fragile, flammable, soluble, and ferocious
a heart is loud
blinding, deafening, screeching noise
it reverberates to support
however falls with just one fallowed swoop
one sentence
one blink
one touch
a heartbeat is an echo
a prayer
a mother’s wish
a signal to every corner of your veins
a heart travels to all, but only reaches to a few
it engages with no remorse
no regret
if only we could stop listening to it
life would be easier to live
but to live without a heart, is to die with a heavy soul

your heart is a lighthouse
a pulsating light
flickering off in the distance
thrown against the fog
billowing in the unknown
its visible
even when you think otherwise
it’s within grasp for anyone who wants it
it matters
it’s yours
This poem was for my Poetry class. It was described as a Definition Poem, and the guidelines that posted was as following:

Choose an ordinary object, such as a door, then make up a list of functions for that object. Try to select functions that lend a symbolic meaning or quality to the object. For example, a door opens, closes, locks, blocks the view, separates inside from outside, etc. When you have created the list, begin the poem with the object and the follow that with a series of functions selected from your original list. Select functions with an eye toward some larger insight or them

Most of this poem comes from another short essay that I was working on entitled Lighthouse Heart that I have scrapped :/
This describes how the heart is many things. It can be looked at as many ways to many people, but in the end the most important thing is that it is yours. You should take care of it, but at the same time you have to put it into peril in order to live entirely.

— The End —