Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Caroline Lee Feb 2016
There is a place in me that sleep cannot touch- a place in which I cannot breathe
I go to the same places, sing the same songs, make the same jokes and still I am expected to be full,
Bursting with light,
The ice in your drink.
But I'm okay
I promise I am
But I am trying to understand the great divide between nature and man
The chemicals in the boundaries that separate us when all I desperately need is to collide and combust
To exist within the boundaries I set
The order I ordain
To be able to breathe
As if every breath were the first
As if I could some how keep inside of me all of heaven and earth
As if I could be
As I am
To be in the present
Though presently I am losing my mind  
This all fades and breaks in time
And in time
I will return back to you
Retrace my steps go to the same places, sing the same songs, make the same jokes and this time I really will be full
Bursting with light
The ice in your glass.
But for now I am winter
and the ice that has cemented my lungs and that weighs down my eyes is all I can begin to feel
That and the place that sleep cannot touch- a place in which I cannot breathe.
Writers block is the worst. Trying to deal with transitions is ****. Everything is gross.
  Feb 2016 Caroline Lee
SJ Sullivan
a poem for Ben*

I remember sitting with you in a small
field when the air was sweet and comfortable.
An air that draped itself upon your
skin to shield it from a breeze.
The field, wasn't really a field.
But an inevitably guilty attempt to cover
up the shame of the town's aging lines.
It was adjacent to a bank, and I played
with the crumbling dried up dirt under the
bench that you sat on
I read you a poem here.

You called me confessional.
I don't remember what we were doing there.

It is easiest to lose the time when you can
feel it moving forward, but looking back
has different laws in physics.
Back, then, in the relation to now drags
slowly behind the future. Progression.
For now it is cold and I tread carefully,
through ice glazed parking lots,
but I can remember you in the warmth.
And you can still find me in the snow.
  Feb 2016 Caroline Lee
Joel M Frye
Discovered a new
"poet", Diksha Patel, a
master plagiarist.
To any who read this:  please let your friends know.

To all my friends and followers:  Check Diksha's page on HP and see if s/he's plagiarized any of your work.  They stole my POTD from a couple months ago, and struck it from their site when I called them out on it yesterday.  Eliot has been notified.
Next page