Innocence turns into tragedy within
Lighthearts and laughter
Turns into despair and quiet
What seemed so harmless
So serene and so happy
Ends with hands shaking and
Tears down children's faces.
A Christmas party turned evil.
A harmless cookie chewed by a 5th grader
Becomes lodged in his throat and
He struggles to breathe.
His face turns colors one only sees
In rainbows after the rain.
But the way I see it;
It' not going to stop raining for a long time.
The little boy,
The same age as my own brother,
Dies in the hospital.
His innocence taken from him just like that.
And I cant help but think about his parents.
The Christmas presents they have to return,
The grief they feel as they tell their family that their little boy didnt make it.
Or about the little boy my brother is friends with.
The one at the party who didn't go to school yesterday.
The one who made the kid laugh.
The one who was so funny, made the kid choke on
a cookie and die.
I feel so much for these people.
How do you console an 11 year old who has witnessed death?
How do you not cry because you think,
That could have been
The answer is- you can't.
That innocence is gone
And it can never come back.
I send all my hopes and prayers and condolences to his family and friends and everyone who knew him and was involved.
A normal percent of a population.
How can one overcome normal when being average is out of our control?
Being average is harder than one could predict.
Clawing one's way to the top only to realize that the top is only slightly above average and the true top would be classified next to the great minds of einstein and issac newton, of course.
Every one of the population considered average either accepts their fate or decides they could be better.
An even smaller amount of those average people have the courage and strength to hope there might be something...
Special about them and without even trying there could be something likeable and charming about them. Maybe.
A typical kind of person
Could grow tired of always flowing with the crowd and one day
Maybe just maybe we'd find on a different path a place where home can be felt by the presence of a stranger and love could grow on trees and in the spring, bloom. Maybe.
Maybe average is harder than people realize.
Every one trying to stand out just a little bit and succeed!
Show the world who they are
What they can be and
How they will break everyones old expectations !
And maybe once be special..
Being average is hard work.
Sure, you had to work your way up to being above average and intelligent but you were born with that genetic upperhand of being smarter than everyone else, ya know.
And i mean the people who are below average harbor doubt in themselves and usually come to term with the fact they can do no better.
But the people who are average.
The people who are average just
To be special for one moment
And in that one moment they need
To find the one person
Who could make them feel special all their life.
These are the thoughts of a hindered mind.
sometimes it's like i feel too much.
waves of emotions overwhelm me
and i am powerless against its force.
it's like i feel everything deeper.
canyons and trenches could not compare
to the depths of what makes me, me.
somehow i feel everything for longer.
droughts have ended faster
than i have been able to let go.
my emotions build and dissipate
more quickly than the rain falls.
one minute thunder, the next a rainbow.
Early in the morning: Dawn,
While still in my pajamas
And still eyes clenched shut,
I'd open the window and let
The cool, whimsical wind
Splash my face with the
Phrase "Good Morning" .
The Breeze was as serene as
The birds on the telephone wire.
2 deep breaths and I think back to you.
Eyes adjusting to the light
Scratching its way into the
Crevices of my room.
I open them wider.
I want to see everything.
These early Saturday Mornings
Tear memories from my brain
And present them in front of my
Eyes like photos at a museum.
2 deep breaths and I think back to you.
Resting my head on the windowpane,
My thoughts soar,
And my hopes plummet.
I can never get you back,
And you cannot have me.
The birds sing an unfamiliar tune
That makes my head spin.
And I suffocate in their cotton candy
Sentimental ode to the sky.
2 deep breaths and I think back to you.
2 breaths more and I think back to us.
This was one of my favorite poems that I wrote last year. This post is just to start off my poetry page and I promise new poems will be coming soon! Until then, Enjoy some of my poetry from previous years of creatively writing.
I want to escape to an uncharted star
And be held by his Galileo eyes,
Unravel his smile and learn the secrets between his dimples,
Like the spaces within Orion’s Belt.
I want to witness the aurora of color:
The atmosphere changes when he laughs with me.
I want to sail into space -
The space where his eyebrows furrow -
And ease all his cosmic pains.
I want to use my telescope to locate his greatest dreams and
Become an astronomer just to help them become reality.
I want to observe the meteor shower in my heart
When his hands close around mine.
Capture the silence of his parted lips,
When he lies next to me under the darkening sky,
Notice all the beauty that whispers to me.
I want to orbit his soul
And hope it carries me somewhere warm -
Because I cannot stop this force,
That holds my astronaut heart to his.
I was raised with one hand
firmly gripping my neck.
Not enough to choke,
but just enough to scare.
One wrong move and
He could snap my neck.
One split second of insubordination-
He occasionally squeezed too hard-
blamed it on his stress.
Gasping for air is the only
Memory I have of him.
No abuse to report,
No marks or scars except the ones on my heart.
I cried alone at night so
No one could hear.
I smiled through the pain
and hid every tear.
Threats were daily and
The child I was,
No longer appeared.
Each year I grew older,
His grip would tighten.
Shackling me to his commands and
I was told to toughen up,
But my heart was wilder than he could tame.
Shorter breaths and more tears-
Years and years of silence.
Waiting for the perfect time
To stand up and say,
Every day it gets closer now,
To the day I'll break his hands.
You'll need a backpack to
Carry your doubts and fears.
You need them, but don't be
Afraid to lighten the load if they
Start to weigh you down.
You'll need to lace your hair with
Hope like a ribbon and
Never let it fray.
You'll need to pin a compass to your shirt
So you will never forget to follow
Your North and no one else's.
You'll need to hold a seed in your hand
So you'll always remember your roots.
And wear a crown of flowers
To bring peace to your ravenous mind.
You'll need steel-toed boots for your travels
Because God knows the road ahead is long and rocky.
You'll need band aids for when you trip,
But not to worry, dear,
It happens to the very best of us.
And if you ever get scared
Remember the flashlight in your pocket
And it will light your way.
A Journey Poem
If the clouds during the clearest skies
Come down and hug me as tight as they can
And whisper, "I don't want to let go."
They would have given me their love.
If I dropped a micro milliliter of water
On the softest grass and something grew and grew
Until he promised,"I'll always protect you."
He would have given me all his love.
If the moon and the sun were to talk
And they shined a secret path way to my future
Where they told me "go, be happy, be free."
They would have given me all their love.
If all of a sudden the Earth started to shake
And I felt myself falling, I'd scream until I found
A steady hand pressed firm against the small of my back,
It would be proof of his love given to me.
If he could sing me a lullaby in my ear
As we both lied next to each other on the floor and
He says in a hushed tone, "kiss me."
He would have given me all his love.
If I wait I can see there is no one in sight
I stand, alone, lost within my soul and with
My mind spinning as I crumble and burn
I realize, no one has given me their love tonight.
Last night I fell asleep
In the arms of a dream.
Hushed by the quiet
Drumming of my heart.
I was caressed by gentleness
Of the comforter and the cream-colored sheets.
Last night I fell asleep
Not knowing if I would wake up.
In my mind I was startled
By the things unsaid and undone.
I was assaulted by my goals
Whispering to me what I needed to accomplish.
Last night I fell asleep
Exhaling my tears.
Inside I was screaming
And calling your name.
I was lost and alone
With no friend to call home.
Last night I fell asleep
With the hope of finding me.
In myself somewhere
I knew I existed-hiding.
I was called a wanderer.
"But not all those who wander are lost."
credit to be given to J.R.R. Tolkien
I put makeup on my little sister.
I laugh as she squints her eyes too much and
mascara goes everywhere. Thin black streaks run along
her eyelid and below it; she goes to rub and
I have to hold her hands from creating a bigger mess.
The sky turns black and we run inside for cover.
She starts to worry as the rain erupts from the clouds
and cringes when she hears the thunder.
I tell her there's nothing to worry about,
and took her hand to lead her out on the porch.
Lightning cracked down so close,
and I scared her even more.
I laid her down in bed; past bedtime.
She was tired and I
didn't think she'd remember but
she asked me to sing her the song I made up
when she was just a baby.
I swept the hair across her forehead as I began the tune.
She grabbed my hand and drifted off to sleep.
She doesn't need me like she used to,
but I'll always be there, just in case.
when i was younger
i sat in the back seat of my parents' car
and stared out the window.
it was mostly trees i saw--
blurs of moldy green and dark brown.
but i liked the way the colors swirled together
and all the lines of the trunks smeared.
so i built a camera in my head
to capture each image as the car drove
a steady 45 miles an hour.
i'd look intensely at the scene,
close my eyes for a second
and when i opened,
tried to remember everything.
for the first few seconds i could
but, then i couldn't.
i'd take another picture
and do it all over again.
i could never hold on to it.
it was my first lesson.
You ask her,
"Why did you date such *******?!"
She simply says, "I don't know."
Maybe it's because she had a father
Who didn't teach her
How a man should treat a woman til it was
Til she was grown and already mistreated
By every man she'd ever known.
Maybe it was because she saw
Only flaws when she looked into the mirror,
And believed them when they said,
"You're cute, but that woman over there is hot."
She learned to hate herself.
She was worthless- dirt under the feet
Of the men who walked all over her.
Never good enough.
Or maybe it's because eventually
She started to believe that
This is how relationships work.
The manipulation, the emotional abuse...
Maybe she just deserved it.
She wasn't meeting their standards,
She wasn't giving them what they wanted,
And god forbid if she asked for too much love.
She tells herself that it's her fault
That they left her.
She should've been better,
Less emotional and
Let them do what or whom ever they pleased.
She concludes that she isn't
Meant for love or happiness or relationships.
That life will go on and she will be
You ask her why she dates *******.
She shakes her head and looks down,
Saying, "I don't know."
But the truth is she knows exactly why,
But tries to hide it with a smile anyway.
Because she knows
That's not the answer you were looking for.
I was there,
Sitting in the kitchen as your children discussed
What your final months would be like.
It was right after the pumpkin and pecan pie had been eaten
And they were asking themselves if they should make you fight—
To not go gentle into that goodnight.
After all the pain—the deep cracks in your fingers and
You’d just smile and say “that’s what radiation does”—
The price you pay to fight to be alive.
The Chemotherapy that made you sick for days
And that time you got pneumonia;
When I had to wear a face mask just to be in the same room
And your son was convinced you weren’t going to make it.
But I sat at that table covered in a golden cloth,
Gravy remnants on the place mats,
And you had only left our house 20 minutes ago.
But here they were,
Wishing you to rage against the dying of the light.
How dare they.
You have suffered enough and if you want to leave
The sun is setting,
And it’s wrong to beg you to stay.
This poem was a response poem to Dylan Thomas's "Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night". Some of the lines were therefore taken from his poem and added to mine.
From what I've seen of love,
I believe it doesn't last.
There's no such thing as fairytales
And happy endings never stood a chance.
Broken hearts paint a ****** trail
Of fear, regret, and pain.
All the hope, all the tears-
Every effort was in vain.
She'll never get him back,
And he'll never find a love like her.
We are imperfect people,
In a loveless world.
My plant is dying.
Her long chlorophyll-filled leaves
drooping, sagging, lacking.
The sun barely shines on her anymore
as the shadows claim her
in the corner of my windowsill.
The only window in my tiny room
and it receives the least amount of light
due to the angles of the sun—
an inhibitor of her vegetative maturation.
As it is there’s hardly any daylight
left to give.
Winter is drawing near, and I should
learn to close my window
so the cold can't creep in—
but I open it anyway,
afraid to let go of any residual summer
that might still litter the increasingly frigid air.
Where did the time go?
The cold doesn't agree with her,
despite being a succulent—supposedly hard to ****—
so I trim the broken, withered limbs,
break them off so the plant can breathe again.
The now bare stem looks lonely.
So I water the dry dirt in hopes that
she’ll grow once more.
I've missed this;
This thing called writing...
It creeps into my mind like a virus
And it seeps into my core as I absorb its kindness.
I never intended to stop this feeling I get of
Becoming myself when I write; it just happened.
Every night the virus clung to my lungs
And asked me to produce ****** poetry.
Just when I thought the pain was gone,
The silence would tear my heart apart.
I realized then and now that I cannot fill that void.
That void I feel when poetry is not present in my veins.
The doctors tried everything.
Observing my perplexing behavior and
My countless fits of crying and depression.
They didn't know that writing was still nagging me
to scribble my unending thoughts on paper.
Writing was one of my dearest friends.
He was always there when I needed to express myself.
In a way he was my shoulder to cry on or my happy sun.
Although I tried to **** him,
He forgave me and gave me another try at this thing called writing.
So here I am.
I'm back from the literary dead.
And this is where I plan to remain.
i didnt see it coming.
one day we were just friends-
lonely acquaintances caught up on the past
afraid to love, afraid to care,
afraid our tongues would betray us.
afraid they'd release the captive words
like i love you and i miss you.
the words stuck in the back of our throats
and it killed us to try not to cough it up.
it was torturous.
til i came clean and spit it all out
and i never thought you'd feel the same way
but you did.
its an indescribable feeling
to hold someone you love close to your heart.
skin on skin on skin and you swear you cant get any closer,
but we did.
and i never saw it coming.
Maybe i dont deserve love.
Maybe all the time ive spent
Staring at the second hand
On the clock waiting for love
Was wasted because the clock turned out to be broken.
Maybe my other half just doesnt exist like a sock thats come out of the dryer and cant find its match.
Maybe God has just been shaking his head at me wondering why i act the way i do.
Maybe im just a mess who thinks too highly of herself and is too arrogant and sets standards too high therefore nulling and voiding anyone who could love me.
Maybe i have become so set on finding "the one" that ive forgotten the people in front of me (whoever they might be).
Maybe i dont deserve love because
I dont think i do.
And that is exactly what scares me.
Maybe i dont think i deserve to be loved.
i don't believe in god
but this sickness makes me pray.
pray to hurt less,
maybe for just one day.
i don't believe religion can heal people.
but i drown myself in holy water
hoping i'll see a change.
i don't believe in the holy ghost
but man do i wish he'd help me.
i could use a little guidance
when its late at night
and my thoughts consume me.
i don't believe in heaven
but the finality of death scares me.
how much id love to think
we, greedy humans,
get a second chance at living.
i don't believe in hell,
but that may be where i go.
for I've sinned too many times to count
and had too many conversations with the devil.
but from what I've seen of this place
i think i might already be there.
Today I write the saddest lines
Because today a nation is mourning.
Today we pray for the victims
Because today they are no longer with us.
Today we wait and listen
Knowing that the parents' children won't be coming home.
Today we realize the importance of teachers
And how we take for granted their sacrifices they make for their students.
Today we will remember not the name of the gunman,
But the names of the teachers who gave their lives
And the class of young children who won't see Santa this year.
So let us not forget what happened on 12/14/12
But also know that today is another day that hopefully we can move one step closer to justice
May all those affected by the sandy hook elementary school shooting have the strength and the support they need to move on from this horrible tragedy. May the victims rest in peace. <3
Life is just a mixture
Of unfortunate circumstances
Wrong people right time
Right time wrong people
Let him go No
Love him harder What for
Breathe in and listen to the cars
Passing peacefully outside
Tomorrow is another day
And it's okay to cry
no one to talk to
no one to whisper deep insecurities with
and exchange small secrets under the moon,
slow kiss like fire, and
invade all personal space but love it.
no one to cradle my head while I sleep
or lace their hands with mine and refuse to let go.
no one to gently place their lips on my forehead and
as their breath caresses my face I hear them say
I love you.
But no one does that.
I am alone.
staring at the ceiling wondering what on earth
made me so unlovable,
made so naive,
of what I desperately need...
hold me so close that I forget that
I am falling apart;
crumbs of my heart litter the floor
and specks of my lungs cloud the air like dust
as I walk your way.
embrace my fears and whisper lies-
tell me it'll be alright
even though in the morning
I know you won't be here.
as I am and accept my flawed skin
and the fat on my inner thighs that I hate;
tell me I'm beautiful and maybe I'll believe you.
til your needs are met,
comb your hand through my hair
and then find a reason to leave quickly-
soon i'll be lonely again.
I'm used to this game;
the one where a boy gets what he wants
and I suffer in the silence but it's okay.
a small part of me is sadly learning to like it.
I asked her if I could find Love,
By holding her in my hands.
She shyly whispered yes
And I nestled her glowing beams
Into my faded denim pocket.
I wanted to carry her-
Like she has done for me.
I prayed to her every night,
Wishing to find the secrets
That only her craters knew.
I begged every morning for her seas
To teach me the meaning of love.
But day by day,
I noticed her enticing light fading,
Her small smile slowly relaxing
Into a sad cupid’s bow.
I asked the moon if there was anything
I could do to make her feel love again.
She told me how she longed,
To settle once again above the sea
Where the stars would stop by for a cup of tea,
And the sun would laugh with her sometimes
During a game of hide and seek.
So I took her to the nearest ocean
And I asked if she was happy.
She looked away and told me
She wanted to return home.
I sighed, knowing that the moon was needed,
By other people and not just me.
But the moon had yet to teach me of love.
I realized though,
As soon as she returned
To the familiar river of stars,
That she had, indeed, taught me of love.
Love is unselfish and
Love is knowing when to let someone go
So their true happiness
Can be achieved.
Love is like the moon-
Shining on everyone
With every ounce of passion
Her body can muster,
To simply see a smile
On a fellow wanderer’s face.
days like this are my favorite.
silence save the sound of the wind, the rain, and cars passing
its like a gentle cleansing--
a washing away of the doubt
that consumes me most days
the wind helps me breathe
the rain helps me think
and the cars help me remember I'm not alone
the worst feeling
is when you imagine
a beautifully worded
line of poetry
and forget to write it down.
too lazy to write it
when you're laying tiredly in bed.
and once you've awaken,
certain you would've remembered,
your face can't help but fall
in pure disappointment.
regret overcomes you
as you realize slowly
that those words will never come back.
one can only hope
that this moment of beauty,
is not as fleeting.
My father made me feel
like I was never good enough.
My grades were never high enough,
my weight never low enough,
and I was never pretty enough.
It's a hard lesson to live with
when it berates you every time you
My first boyfriend emotionally abused me.
Toyed with me and used me
to try and get what he wanted.
Sexually harassed me in the middle of class
and I was told by my friends he'd hit me one day.
When I refused to give in to his pathetic whims,
he resigned to talking to his ex girlfriend
because I wasn't good enough.
The next three guys I was with was really only one,
who came back each time after breaking me
with a new excuse, a new reason to reel me in.
Break up with me, date someone else,
ask for me back and then flirt with someone else.
I still was't good enough no matter what I did.
I moved on finally and met the next guy.
A presumed sweetheart who had issues, like me.
But his daddy issues and inability to show emotion,
slowly suffocated me.
His own insecurities attacked mine
and instead of trying to make me feel good about myself,
he insisted on asking me why
I wasn't as good as the other girls he'd been with.
And now I've met you.
You came into my life when I least expected it
and have exceeded all of my highest expectations
because you treat me how I deserve
and never let me forget my worth.
So, I'm sorry I get insecure,
and ask you to not bring things up.
I understand that I am unreasonable sometimes
and I know there's no cure for the mess that I am.
But after all is said and done,
theres nothing I'm more grateful for
than you saying you understand.
I wish people were like memorabilia
so you can remember exactly how the are.
but you cant leave them in a jewelry box
on your dresser for safekeeping
or in a shoebox under your bed.
you can't put them on the top shelf
of your closest
cause when they're dead, they're dead.
no way to hold onto their heartbeat
or the warmth of their smile when they look at you.
oh, but what i'd give to be able to hold on
to every last piece of you.
every word dripped from your mouth and
like snowflakes falling from the sky in December
I stuck out my tongue to catch every bit.
your hands painted red up and down my back--
a slow fire erupting in my chest.
in all the chaos you soothe me,
as I shed my skin and become more myself.
your pain fades from your eyes,
like water returning to sea
and you see me.
i push aside your uncertainty
and embellish your dark and ravenous fantasies.
i feed your mind
and you hush my erratic heart.
stars race across the night sky.
people watch in awe,
admire from afar,
and write songs about it.
but then it crashes and
like you and me.
a child at a fair begs for ice-cream.
the reluctant parent gives in,
hands the cashier a few dollars and
the child smiles as he
licks the smooth vanilla from its cone.
licks are too slow and the
ice-cream melts and falls to the ground-
like you and me.
music turned up louder,
playing through headphones.
you dance in the kitchen,
and they become essential
to hear all your favorites songs.
you wake up and place them in your ears
only the next day and find
the left ear is static and the right is silent.
broken wires. bad connection.
like you and me.
a brown belt
strong and secure,
takes the weight of oversized guts and
cinching small waits with large behinds.
dependable, you wear it everyday.
a statement of who you are.
too much pull,
leads to broken belt holes;
the metal prong pulling through,
like you and me.
long blonde hair.
curled and styled to perfection,
blown in the wind and still gorgeous.
cancerous cells invade
and all the effort to fix it
makes the hair fall to the floor
in unorganized heaps.
leaving your skull
even when you beg it not to.
like you and me.
everything is like
you and me.
I believe in love as much as I believe in hate.
I belive a person can say "I love you"
And hate you the next day.
I believe in love at first sight,
As much as I believe in the slow progress of a new relationship.
I believe that time means everything and nothing-
It all depends on who you're with.
I believe that smiles can make someone's day,
As well as make you believe they secretly hate you.
I believe that hope is a dangerous thing
But sometimes necessary to hold on to.
I believe in the possibility that I'm insane-
That my lips speak impossibilities and
My mind cradles irrational ideas.
But I believe that in a world filled with hidden meanings,
It's impossible to believe in one side and not the other.
it's hard to remember a time
when my bones didn't creak like rotting wood
at the mention of another girl.
jealousy wreaked havoc because
i couldn't trust.
its hard to picture a place
that wasn't shrouded in darkness
as his hand crept up my leg when
i didn't ask it to.
it's hard to replace the feelings of
distrust with trust,
lust with love,
and depression with pure joy.
i feel like i'm standing in the ocean
and with each tide that comes
there is another weight tied to me
until i drown- anxiety.
but when i am with you
easier to breathe
because when i am with you
i float in the water.
you carry those weights for me.
and all you had to do was
look at me and smile.
It starts with something small—
Missed plans, the tiniest thing gone wrong.
And all of a sudden it's a downward spiral.
Fear, unrest, paranoia sets in
And like a volcano, there's no stopping it once it's started.
You can only sit and watch yourself burn—
Until everything cools and hardens.
The memory of you fades away-
Like a sunset, slowly at first,
Then all at once.
Now I see the stars.
I hide my pain between smiles
and in my poetry behind sloppy metaphors.
I tuck it in nice and neatly
into my personified words of hurt.
And in phrases laced with the
essence of you.
A completed poem,
a now free mind.
it's hard to explain how
some days I'm full of smiles
and I'm convinced everything is okay.
and other days I'm too crippled
sometimes i can talk myself out of it--
tell myself its all in my head.
but most days it makes
even the happiest moments
lined with overwhelming worry.
sometimes i can forget about it
when I'm distracted for a moment.
but it always finds a way to sneak out
past my chapped lips
creating sound from my sorrowful tongue.
my concerns become voiced
even if i don't want them to be.
but if i don't speak out
the anxiety will bury me.
Trained to believe she is worthless.
Conditioned to hate the way she smiles.
And the color of her eyes,
Her hair color,
Her chest and thighs.
Told that she is cute,
But never beautiful.
"I'd bang her but I'd never date her"-
Anxiety ridden, air headed, silly little girl.
How dare she think that she could be anything more?
"You complain too much"
"You worry too much"
"You're difficult and stubborn
and God I don't know why I'm even with you"
Too smart of a mouth on too small of a girl.
It only brings her trouble.
She forgives the men who taught her she was nothing,
But continues to live out the lessons they taught her.
Trained to believe she is worthless.
Conditioned to hate the way she smiles.
My plant is alive.
Her vibrant green leaves stretch towards the sun--
tanning like a ******* a beach.
The soil that once betrayed her
now befriends her and helps her flourish.
The warmth from the window
cradles each small limb
down to her roots.
Photosynthetic joy overcomes her.
Encompassed by his love--
growing stronger each and
Spring is drawing near, and I am glad
I left my window open
so the vernal light could drift in.
The rain and wind that hardened her
did not stop her
from rising up again.
Oh, how time has eased her pain.
No, the cold didn't agree with her,
but it'll take more than that to **** her.
The broken leaves that fell to her feet
now serve as a reminder of what she once was.
She's not so lonely anymore,
for he smiles at her and
knows she can only grow more.
See previous poem: "November"
I used to pray to the moon
Because it was the only thing that made
Walked outside on brightly lit nights,
Pressed my nervous palms together
The moon was constant.
I could see it there on the darkest of nights.
It had cycles that never broke and
A face that never changed.
I kneeled to its beauty and
Begged it for love.
I knew it couldn't answer me.
I knew it wouldn't help.
But it always made more sense.
Me inside every day-
I don't know
How to live any other way.
I almost gave up.
I was tired of being trampled on
by boys wearing men's shoes.
Angry, alone, and forgotten.
I was taught that love was fleeting--
not worth wasting your time on.
Then the most serendipitous event occurred:
And now I find myself wishing on every 11:11
your lips touched my cheek and bent to the curve of my neck.
i smiled and rolled over to meet your lips with mine.
soft, cold and peppermint.
your green eyes saw into me and i knew id found my home.
we unwillingly rolled out bed
and i made you breakfast.
you admired me as i walked around the kitchen,
grabbing me to pull me onto your lap,
causing part of your omelette to burn
but you said you loved it.
writing about you is difficult.
every cliche comes to mind but i dont write those
because who wants to hear it and besides,
you deserve originality.
the truth is i have so much i want to say to you
and yet not a single consonant leaves my regretful tongue.
some poet i am.
i could write a poem just about your eyes
and another one about how much beer you drink.
i dont think either would really hit the spot.
you are a complex being that i tangle
myself up in every other night.
i stroke your hair and beg for kisses
unable to think about anything but how good
your skin feels against mine.
and yet when you ask me what i like about you,
i flounder again and again.
it would be so easy for me just to say
i love how observant you are,
how you love the rain almost as much as me,
how i love when you hold my hand,
and how i love that you seem like you need me.
its simple and yet when you ask,
my mind goes blank and i fail to make you happy.
i guess thats always my worry though--
making you happy.
but here i am,
writing about it instead of telling you.
Sheets tangle with skin and
moonlight shines on pale legs- entwined.
Sloppy kisses paint her neck,
her hand running through his hair- pulling.
Rhythmic hips set in motion-
sweat gently beading on the back of his neck.
Sweet nothings whispered in her ear,
she grasps at his back to pull him closer.
Heartbeats sync and breathing
becomes shallow and quick- craving the
soft moans lacing their exhales.
Cold November air leaks through the opened window,
but neither of them are cold.
the clock is ticking
hold your breath, suppress your scream
the night is coming
Sneakers tied liked bunny ears
and ponytails tucked under helmets,
my sister and I ride our pink and green bicycles
a quarter mile down the road from our house.
We pause at the gate to read the sign but don’t enter.
We ride further to take the back way,
Racing on the gravel path to be the first down the hill.
As we pedal on the now smooth, intertwining pathways,
we speed past Thomas Walsh and his wife, Louise.
We circle around baby Alex and little Marie.
The green grass alive and flourishing, and
the sun shining on our young, sweaty faces.
We keep our distance when we notice a car,
so we don’t disturb them—
this place is not ours alone.
But as soon as they leave we race again.
The wind flying past our faces—
we imagine this is what sticking
your head out a car window feels like.
After twenty minutes we grow tired and decide to leave,
but not without saying goodbye
to Colonel Andrew D. Walker.
He died the day I was born.
usually i don't write any notes but i feel like some people may not understand this poem... the girls in the poem are riding their bikes in a cemetery.
it feels like drowning.
slowly, steadily falling-
drifting towards the unknown-
an anchor tied around your foot
and you're stuck.
you move your arms to swim towards the surface
but you can't propel yourself forward;
your arms growing tired,
your lungs running out of air.
you scream but people just glare-
"she's crazy" they say,
as they watch you slip away.
you keep closing your eyes
hoping it'll just all go away,
shaking and crying, your nerves are shot.
you can't decide if you're dying in the
middle of the ocean,
or just a puddle at your feet.
good, your makeup is still intact,
your mascara flawless and your foundation unwavering.
no one sees that you've been crying.
good, no one has answered your texts,
your pathetic attempt to gain more attention.
no one gets that you need it.
good, your lips somewhat resemble a smile,
it doesn't reach your eyes but they cant tell the difference.
no one knows what your real smile is like.
good, you managed to pick yourself off the floor,
just in time to sit in class and tell yourself youre stupid.
no one realizes how much the participation grade hurts you.
good, your friend believed you when you said youre not sad,
as you held it together and insisted that you were alright.
no one saw the tear roll down your cheek once you were alone.
good, youre alone,
maybe thats how youre supposed to be.
I run my thumb over the stretch marks on the inside of my thighs.
Smooth grooves, not deep, not long,
Reminiscent of the weight gained
That made my *** expand and boys notice me,
Not because they liked me
But because they saw this growth.
These lines tell a short story
About my transition into adulthood.
My transition into catcalling and
Being called bubble **** and
Being told I must be able to dance because of my ***.
Small creases, barely noticeable
But significant to my life
I am not proud of these marks
That become visible every time I sit
Criss-crossed and quickly realize they’re there again and move my legs together.
No, I am not proud of these marks.
— The End —