Returning after over a year of not writing,
Because I struggled to realize,
That my words did not need to bleed with the same sadness I consumed.
That my heartache was not a recipe was good poetry,
And that my tears should be the reason I pick up a pen.
In happiness I am endlessly finding myself,
And in happiness I will find my words once more.
Returning to hello poetry after a year and a bit feels strange and new to me, especially rereading my old poetry and seeing all the comments and views. I feel like a different person, someone who doesn't need to rely on sadness to write good poetry, but rather on experiences that have filled me with bliss. Easing my way back into this, so heres something that I wrote very quickly to say hello once more !
When you say what's up,
I don't know in which way you mean
So I list all three.
You laugh and I do too but
Oh god is my laugh weird is there something in my teeth are you laughing to be mean to me?
When the waiter comes,
I ask for water with water,
And you ask for the same but replace the water with lemon and you're laughing again.
You ask why I keep picking at the
Threads in the edge of my sleeve and next
Thing I'm hugging myself and you're
Questioning that too.
I wonder when you'll start questioning my scars,
And ask why my hands keep shaking.
Some people have fears of sharks.
The only thing I'll be fearing is if the shark Likes me! Oh my god first impressions matter SO much.
And right now you are a shark and I,
I am the ****** bait thrown into the ocean,
I am the deer in the headlights,
I am the girl sitting opposite you at dinner
Knowing you'll soon get sick of my habits,
Like me trying to find
Confidence in the cracking of my knuckles,
And the shaking of my knees.
This is meant to be a spoken word piece so I wasn't sure how to write it down nicely.
Its hard to sit here
And act like ink runs through me
As oppose to your name and cigarette Smoke.
Its hard to keep trying to find
Beautiful ways to express
And convince myself that
Writing poem after poem will make
Each time I see your name hurt less.
I'll try pretend like I didn't
Run each conversation through my mind
Trying to figure out when you turned
Crashing and crumbling and I still called
I am not the ocean,
Because the ocean kisses the shore after
Every ripple it makes.
I am not a bird,
Because birds fly back to where they
Came from, all together.
I am not a plane,
Because planes land back in airports,
Filled with people going home.
I am not anything that travels,
Because everything seems to have a place.
I am here, and in 16 years I have moved Enough times, more than the sentences That make up this poem.
I have moved enough times, to know that
Home is not a place and never will be.
I have moved enough times, to know that Everything is simply temporary.
I have moved enough times.
Sorry this isn't great and I haven't been writing. This move has been rough.
I'll try to pretend
That you didn't crush my lungs
With the weight of your words,
And that you didn't cling to bones,
Like the smoke of the cigarettes you
Always had on you.
I'll try to pretend
That you didn't fall out of
Love with me,
And that you pointing out my flaws
Didn't hurt as badly as they did.
I am here and I am real.
I am living and made of
So much more than bones filled
I am heavy and real and present.
I am filled with curves and emotion
And I will pretend that ignorance
Runs through my real life veins.
And that I don't know why someone
Wouldn't be content
With having the body of a
occasionally i feel a
need to draw you,
to paint the veins in
your arms, to write
you into the margins
of other things i'm
working on. but i let
it sit, i let it stew just
on the edge of my
fingertips and pulsing
in the palm of my
hand until it is less
of an oncoming train
and more like a paper
plane on a playground.
i draw myself, i paint
myself, i write myself
into the margins instead.
bletting- (noun) the ripening of fruit,
especially of fruit stored until the
desired degree of softness is attained