Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Grace Feb 2017
If I was meant to kiss your
Lips are sealed on our transgressions of the
Night, sacred sidewalk, we stroll down the road in the
Twilight's half light ushers in snowlight
In winter, your hand is mine.

In spring, the snow is melting
Slowly I want to feel the years melt by with
You are exquisite, my dear, my
Mango paradise and lazy hot summer
Sunshine brushes your hair with gold
Foil my character flaws, and I hope I make you
Happy and content only that I am madly in love with you.

Take a step back: imagine if we had never
Met some guy yesterday who told me our love is
Beautiful are the leaves that burn in the
Fall deeper into the spiral that is your
Light packing is all I need to fly to you.

The little things matter; like when your
Laugh because we have today and smile because I have claimed your
Hand it to you, you know how to make me feel like you
Love me, as magpies do, iridescent and for
Life is brighter when you're

My words to you are broken sometimes but you make me whole.
an old experimental poem.
Grace Feb 2017
Snow, like silent guardians
hundreds of thousands of them
Fall on my shoulders, my backpack
the trees, the houses, bus benches.

Cold, a whispering cat's tail
shivering past your hand
Snap branches and blanket dead engines.

Frost blossoms in bedrooms
Bite fingers and rib cages.

Winter is lonely, without you.
Grace Feb 2017
My first art teacher was my best friend.
She taught me the colours of her eyes, the line of her smile, and in every movement grace.

My first writing teacher was a classmate.
On the bus, we twined together words with our bodies, and spilt poetry from her ink-stained hands.

My first music teacher was an acquaintance.
One word turned to a melody and the melody a concert, and my notes became the birds that she loved...

My teachers, not many, not little, but giants
My teachers are shoulders to stand on and grow.

My years are still few, there's still teachers to learn from
But is it so wrong to want a teacher to teach me the road?
Grace Feb 2017
it takes Courage to grow old
Wisdom to grow young

Experience for youth
and Humility for some;

Innocence for the years
and yet Virtue for none.
Grace Jan 2017
she makes me
like a science-fair soda rocket, the tails of children's screaming glee

she makes me
on wings of kites, that stream back in nylon ribbons to loving hands

she makes me
the white ash on dewy green grass, new July morning

she makes me
landing on pillows, laughing into soft sheets so obscenely wrinkled-

she makes me
sweater dipping low on her shoulder, smiling up, the way she whispers between our lips:
you make me.
Grace Dec 2016
I love her
Does she love me?
I'm waiting for her under the Tumtum tree
she said that she'd be coming soon
the field's in bloom
she told me she'd be waiting here
the sky is fair

we'll hug and kiss like lovers do
like we did so long before
you'll press our foreheads together and
I'll twine my fingers into yours
but you stole half of our soul
and took it with you on a plane
3 825 kilometers
2377 miles
so long

she told me just keep waiting still
she told me half a year ago
my bones are pale, the flies are gone
but she will come.

she said she'd come.

I love her
Does she love me?

— The End —