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Dana Kathleen Nov 2015
After every time you say to me
It was good to see you
But you know it was more than that.

You’ve also said we have the same eyes
but we don’t see things the same.

If only my hand could craft words to be
the source of us instead of us being the
source for my words.

Using my hands to paint
the reality I want instead
of what I see. Giving life
to us instead of a life being
taken from us.

If you can’t read me
at least you can read
what I create after
you’ve touched me.
This poem was inspired by my British Literature class, after learning about emission theory and reading some of Edmund Spenser's Amoretti sonnet sequence
Dana Kathleen Nov 2015
Forever in Almost

I read a poem applauding your second love
for teaching you that love still exists
after being broken, but what if your second love
is the same as your first, but not the same at all?

The same arms hold me, but they feel new.
Like when the bus is pulling away but stops
to let you on or when the light turns yellow
with just enough time for you to slip through
or when you catch the door before it closes
or when you drop something  
and catch it in time.

We lost each other like missed exits that keep driving
but found ourselves and now we know all
we have to lose. Dancing with the words we
only danced around before like a spinning top,
one wrong breath could end it.
How can something so fragile not be beautiful?

To have the person who broke you be the person
to reintroduce you to 3am’s,
drives with no destination,
street hugs covered in darkness,
and brown eyes being beautiful.

But he didn’t break me. I broke
by telling myself I loved him when really,
he was the first person I wanted
to love and be loved back by
but I’ve learned that’s not always how it works.
Sometimes you miss each other
like points plotted on the same grid
but not the same spot or parallel lines
that just run side-by-side.

Because, sometimes the bus leaves,
the light turns red,
the door closes,
and you can’t
catch it in time.
Almost there,
but never doing
what it takes
to be there.

So we’ll live together forever
in what we have built and left,
in what could have been,
in what almost was,
and what a beautiful
thing that is.
Not sure how I feel about this poem yet, still thinking of images to add.
Dana Kathleen Oct 2015
Watching rushing from above
falling down to meet the crowd
sensing, momentarily, serene in the scene
suddenly, seeking something singular
not spotting it,
and progressing with shifting seasons.
A friend of mine wrote me a letter and ended it with a poem and that inspired me to write her a poem back, and I normally don't just sit down to write a poem, they are normally inspired by an event/person. So here's something new!
Dana Kathleen Oct 2015
We spent months building
together but by the time
I realized it was your pantry shelf
I was already sitting on it
as a bag of sugar but
I gradually turned into salt
so you stopped wanting me
and I forgot I was living on your pantry shelf.
Until one day you cleaned out
your pantry shelf and I thought
I was lumpy old brown sugar
to be thrown out but months later
when you wanted to use me I realized
I never left your pantry shelf.
I was just baking soda in the back corner
and I’m still living there and don’t know
how to take myself off your pantry shelf
without your help so I guess
it’s my turn to use you.
Dana Kathleen Oct 2015
You broke the ice
the way you broke us,
with the moon.

Rarely full and
partly hidden only
seeing one side, yours.

Sometimes still,
solely silent
in distance.

Bright but barren
and bleak.

Never illuminating
but reflecting what
it dies to let shine,
disappearing to reappear
and take breath.

Always moving but
always there,
pushing and pulling,
highs and lows,
redefining its lines
and everything it touches,
even us.
Dana Kathleen Sep 2015
Subject

Shortly after our
first date I joked
Don’t make me write a poem about you.

It’s been a year and I laugh
because my poems
have become your home.

It’s been a year and
you’re kissing
someone else and
I’m just kissing people
who aren’t you.

Waking up next to you
for the last time
we knew it was and
we had to tell each other
not to cry so we could
kiss for the last time

When we broke
you said to me
I don’t want to be the subject of one of your poems.

But I warned you.
9/18/14 – 4/4/15 – 9/14/15
Dana Kathleen Jul 2015
You showed
me your true colors
so I used you  
as pigment on an
already messy canvas,
because it’s my turn
to do the manipulating.

I wish my hands
were big enough
to sculpt mountains.

My own masterpiece
cannot hurt me.
I’m no longer
afraid of you.
I can no longer miss you
or be hurt by you.

Maybe you should
have used me
more beautifully.
But it’s okay
because I needed
the material.
Apparently wrote this a long time ago, just found it while looking through documents on my laptop.
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