Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
dandelionfine Nov 2018
i am a sewing project:
fine little scars make lace of my arms.
patches of different patterns
occupy my mind; they're awfully frayed
but unique. they're mine.
i'm pushed and pulled through
some speedy machine
work, sleep, repeat
every puncture of the needle at
the speed of light
i am a constant, ever-changing
patchwork, some
handiwork of a tired old woman somewhere
awfully far away. i think of her when I can’t fall asleep.
I wonder if she thinks of me too.
i am a tapestry.
i cover walls, i do not build them, yet oftentimes i so wish i could.
or had the strength to, at least--but i am mere fabric
i am a sewing project.
dandelionfine Oct 2018
i set the tone with notes of my choosing
and nobody knows the tone
except for me, of course,
i am the divine mood-setter
tone-changer
a deity of DJ-ing
i control how i perceive the world through my
tangled-up, battered, white headphones
they croon to me
just me
and they whisper thoughts in my ear
so when the world becomes too loud
i can cancel it out with more sound
and nobody knows
it's my secret
i walk around the hallways with tangled-up secrets
and they keep me awake
and your secrets get tangled up with mine, sometimes
and it's so easy to get lost in the music
i'm getting lost
i've been walking in circles now
looking for you
i look for you, hallway after corridor after whatever
wires drip from my ears, and it's all my secret.
dandelionfine Sep 2018
I have a perfect lunchbox mom
Crusts cut off
She leaves me love letters on my napkin
So that when the bathroom stall became my cafeteria
I wouldn't be so lonely
I have a perfect marathon mom
She runs to the beach and back just to show that she can.
And when she says she's all gross from her run, she somehow still smells like fresh air
My mom is fresh air,
She fills my sister's lungs with life
And every exhale is love
My mom is fresh air.
She is a sanctuary, she is a nest
She is rest
I have a perfect lunchbox mom,
A "Honey, what's wrong?" mom
An "If you're not here, the day's too long", mom
A "Wonder if God knew what He gave to Earth" mom
I thought God kept track of angels
She is everything
dandelionfine Aug 2018
I’m rather tired of abstractions
Of draping my poetry in moonlight and
Stars and
Sky

I tell myself it’s because I cannot simply say what it is I feel
Or what I think I feel
Honestly, abstractions aside-
I don’t know what I’m trying to say.
But the stars do
The reflections on the ocean do
My shadow does
The corners of my room inch towards me
And whisper my thoughts in my ear

I’m tired of abstractions but
They seem to know how to keep me awake
dandelionfine Aug 2018
you apologize
but your angry, loud footprints
stay stained on the floor
Next page