Chelsea Codrington: Favorites

Aug 2011 Chelsea Codrington

midnight prague

there is
there is
no literature in this

the core of my barrenss stiched between the somber of your lips

there is not enough anarchy in the mass to hold this
to speak of the almond eyes that I innocently miss
blue and full, the shadowy veins on your lips
the hands I once
---
--
-

kissed

There is no literature in this

the pretty pictures
I dismiss
I delay my thoughts

the sound of passions gunshots
the inky fluid corpse that my mind blots

In the late night I take my shots
I lay there on my wooden dusty floor
mirroring the internal rot

my eyes are sore

and I implore

you

to behave like you did that one day we were
saying goodbye at your door

please
please
just kiss me
once
more

Ill keep the hinges tight this time
this is the last time
I swore

to myself
my words they are cracking the wood on your shelf
to my poetry I scream for help
to my lamp I simmer in tears
in my pillow I drown your fears
and increase mine

your senses

I feel them
in my
spine

your jawline
all that was once you
and all that was once mine

so small and feline
you to my audience I will ******
before define

my tongue has ran out of words for you
...
..
.

my thoughts are too lonely to empansipate
my hands too empty to castrate
my mind too blane to hate
my eyes
too
numb
to
elate

I hold the heaviness of this weight
in my perched fingers
crawling to the steps of anything
but home

can I remind myself
of the sullen moments
covered in tatterted cloth filled with open wounds
leaking the blood of all your fluttering objetcs
taunting me
singing to me
everyday

there is
there is
no literature in this
the capitol punishment
of my frail little
princess

Aug 2011 Chelsea Codrington

The Other Side of the Wall

Aug 2011 Chelsea Codrington

Kairee F

The Other Side of the Wall

Thirty letters unsent.
Phones endlessly undialed.
Thousands of words unspoken.
Eyes wandering,
Glances stolen.
One secret.
Continual questions.
Does she still care?
Does he?
Both still in love?
Both okay.
Both not.
Both guises.
Both sets of walls.
Both sets of fears,
Fears of the unknown,
Fears of failure,
Threats of the future,
Pressures of the past.
Too many expectations?
Both too frightened to say.
Both too stubborn to part their lips and merely speak.
Tenacious in the worst way possible.
Thirty letters unread.
And will they ever be?
Break the chain,
Remove the mask,
Shatter the wall;
The answer may lie on the other side of love.

Aug 2011 Chelsea Codrington

The Final Night's Stroll

Aug 2011 Chelsea Codrington

Kairee F

The Final Night's Stroll

As I walk, I tread the sand beneath my feet,
I search the ground for shells of beauty,
And the soft sunset guides my soul
Like a single light in the darkness,
A dove spreading its wings
To the music of the water.
In this moment I feel alive,
And I’m getting ready to jump,
To dive in, to reach beyond my body
And fly the depths of the earth,
Independently.
And in this moment, I know I can,
But I realize I don’t want to.
If I need to soar above the ocean,
I’m quite capable,
But it doesn’t matter to me ultimately.
What good are these wings?
What good is total freedom
When you’re flying from your deepest cares?

Aug 2011 Chelsea Codrington

At 3 a.m. the girl on the television reminds me of you

Aug 2011 Chelsea Codrington

JJ Hutton

At 3 a.m. the ******* the television reminds me of you

No home, no front door to unlock,
a life of roams, tires burning rock.
With powders, pills, and subpar poisons,
I remember your childish face,
the reddish furl of your hair;
your spine-tingling body strut cascading into French heels.
No luck, no fat genie or 7 on the die,
rainy bucks, broken umbrella with sigh.
Like songbirds, sirens, and symptoms
gracefully disappear without a note of gloom,
your smile, the original resurrection,
slides from tangible memory -- into mythos -- into misery.

Aug 2011 Chelsea Codrington

one of a kind.

Aug 2011 Chelsea Codrington

Chelsea Gabbard

one of a kind.

please believe me when i say
that you are not unwanted.
please believe me when i say
that you are not unloved.

you are an incredible creation,
spun delicately by the deft fingers of fate;
made with the sole purpose of setting
every corner of the world
on fire.

please believe me when i say
that you are not unwanted.
please believe me when i say
that you are not unloved.

you are as crucial to the earth as
even the slightest streams are to oceans;
as breezes are to the early springtime air -
sending dandelion puffs whirling hand-in-hand
with wishes sent into being from beneath
tightly shut eyes.

Aug 2011 Chelsea Codrington

I know the c r a c k e d people

Aug 2011 Chelsea Codrington

Brycical

I know the c r a c k e d people

Some are almost shattered. 
They’re pieces,       scratching         tearing  grinding  
     wearing  down.
You can tell something       isn't
       right. 

Like a ceramic         vase         dragged      across                 gravel.  

Their moods are brief flashes  of—           mommy's hugs
 and strangers—kicking the ****        out  of     their bowels.  

They aren't even w  h  o  l   e,
 merely p i e c e s         of ceramic and clay.
 Some are smooth, held in a gentle hand.

 But others are jagged reminders of being hurled into a wall.
 
I often wonder if it's my responsibility to mend these pieces,
or just let them be
as I've grown to admire the individuality
of these shattered personalities.

Jul 2011 Chelsea Codrington

Intoxication

Jul 2011 Chelsea Codrington

Kairee F

Intoxication

Pour me one.
I need to unwind.
Let loose,
Let go,
Break out of my mind.

Pour me another.
I want to forget
Your taste,
Your touch,
Desire’s one threat.

Pour it again.
I’m nearly carefree.
No fears.
Just laughter,
And fall to my knees.

Hours pass.
My room is spinning.
The heart of glass
At last is grinning.

Without a worry,
Devoid of care,
I tear out the heart
Beating to bare.

It throbs in my hand,
The reflection I see,
The same forlorn fool
Staring at me.

Darkness descends,
Shadows of unrest,
An all-too-brief slumber,
A drum in my chest.

And right where we parted
We unite once more,
Concerns that I left
Now piercing my core.

The intoxication
Of a hard imbibition
Can cause me to lose every inhibition.

But deep down,
Not once,
Can it ever forget
That I’m already intoxicated –
Constantly,
Completely,
And consciously –
By the immense love
I still have for you.

Sober again.

Jul 2011 Chelsea Codrington

What I Told You

Jul 2011 Chelsea Codrington

Kairee F

What I Told You

I lied when I said it.
A perfect façade of satisfaction.
The shelter: built.
A citadel, blocking it out,
Or, rather, a cage blocking it in.
It will not escape me,
Not yet, that is.
The truth.
Truth is I’m not.
Truth is nothing’s wrong,
But truth is nothing’s right.
Truth is no distraction survives long enough to make me forget.
(Though, that doesn’t halt my attempt.)
Truth is I’ve secluded a piece of me for no one to see,
Not even you.
Not yet, that is.
Truth is I can’t quite tell the truth,
For this requires me to tell myself.
Truth is I believe I still have strength to gain.
And truth is…
Maybe someday I’ll tell.
Not yet, that is.
Truth is I lied.
I lied when I told you
Everything’s okay.

Jul 2011 Chelsea Codrington

An inadequate poem

Jul 2011 Chelsea Codrington

Marsha Singh

An inadequate poem

A poem falls short; I'd like, instead
to draw a single line from me to you
and watch it curl into a word
so beautiful it's still unsaid –
or press paper to the window pane
so that the day might saturate
a note that brightly warms your hands,
spills birdsong from imagined trees
and buzzes like fat bumblebees,
but I am bound by language, love; I can't.