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Iris Stevenson Mar 2010
Little jackrabbit heart
Jackhammering at this brittle bone cage
Salty tears from all parts
Looking for answers on an unmarked page.

Beating back fear with a big stick
Timid, mouse voice tries to squeak
The words of a lioness. Oh why did you pick
The littlest songbird with her bound beak?

Little squirrel darts off, afraid.
After a struggle to stand on shaky legs,
The tiniest foal gave up and laid
In the soft hay. Sweet little dog begs

On the back porch ( liquid scared, scary eyes).
Let me into your heart, let me into your home!
Caged bird becomes freebird of open skies
Dipping low to touch the ocean's foam.
Iris Stevenson Feb 2010
I want to cradle your heart in my hand.Let's trade hearts for a while.Let's steer this sinking ship to land.Let me bask in the glow of your smile. Let's get lost, run away together.Us - against the world, or with it - you choose.Let's enjoy this perfect weather.I don't know about you, but I have nothing left to lose. I am not skilled with words, at poetry,But I could give you playlist after playlistThat'd share my thoughts with you honestly- But you crushed my heart in your fist. I stare at the shattered remains;I asked you to hold up my heartBut instead you tore it apart.You took your heart back, and now all I have of youIs your blood on my pale ghost hand.
I know the rhyme scheme changes (ends) abruptly. That was intentional.
Iris Stevenson Feb 2010
I want to be that boy, in baggy tee and short shorts.Sinewy legs push off the ground;The ground pushes backAnd off he soars, leaps, races.When I ran, I ran away, butHe runs to. To what?Breathe in, gain, breathe out, pain. I breathed in razor bladesThat rattled and sliced down my throatAnd lungs and settled in my knees.They buckled and my feet achedAnd I wanted to stop breathing.His hair floats, smacks against his forehead, whipping him on.His sweat beads And tricklesDown his temple.He looks shiny and glowingAnd at peace with the world - A touch, no-nonsense intense peace.The ground pushed him but he pushed back.Gravity drags him down, but he fights itAnd he's FreeFor a few seconds.Long enough to feel, see, be clearly.I want to be like that beautiful boy.
Iris Stevenson Feb 2010
The instrument, black and shiny silver,Produced a sound louder than I would've ever imagined.You played with such passion, such care, such concentration:It was beautiful.Your shy smile when you took a breath, flipping the page:It was beautiful.The piece, so unfamiliar and fluid and yours:It was beautiful.Sitting on that uncomfortable black chair,I felt like I was in the most comfortable place on Earth,Staring alternately at your face, the instrument,The clock- I had to go so soon - I told you"It was beautiful."You said you made so many mistakes,But I didn't care, becauseIt was beautiful.
Started writing poetry recently (you can tell, hunh?)... (:

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