Flutter.
Your eyes flutter,
And you're almost asleep
My beautiful baby.
Some day soon,
Your heart will flutter
Like your innocent,
Sleepy eyes.

If Time is leaves falling to the ground,
Or the smell of soft, spring rain,
Fetch me a chair, dear,
That I may sit before the open window,
Taking in the four seasons of my life,
Each distinctly beautiful.
Let me watch the tulips blossom
And absorb the springtime sun,
While watching myself bumble
Through childhood,
Lacking the knowledge of corruption
That I'm cursed with today.
Let me see myself fall in love for the first time,
When the summer heat beats down,
Seeing everything as delicately beautiful.
The ocean's waves
Will come and go, like the relationships
I may or may not save.
When the leaves change from red to brown,
I'll remember my children,
Business trips, and a plethora of soccer games.
My husband will romance me every night,
Recaptivating my heart,
Making me fall more and more in love.
Remind me of the happy times,
When winter's icy fingertips
Send chills down my spine.
Reopen my eyes to the stark beauty
Of not just my seasons,
But life itself.

And when it's time,
Let me pass onto my next life.

I dreamt of the mother I hope to become
Last night, when my family was fast asleep.
She sat with her little girl,
ready to strum her guitar,
singing a soft lullaby
to keep bad dreams far away.
She kissed her daughter's head,
Whispering a soft prayer,
and closing the door.
Her husband held her in his arms,
As they danced in the soft kitchen lights,
Revealing her protruding, pregnant belly.
Another baby on the way,
Another life to bless.

Music encompasses
My very being.
It's not a passion,
But a lifeblood.
Stay in tune,
Be inspired.

"Moving on doesn't have to be
Bitter and sorrowful."
That's news to me.
Mourning you,
Mourning us,
Was simply second nature.
But I became
So immersed
In mourning that the moon
Lost his iridescence.
Writing lost its charm.
My foolish grin
Forsook my face,
And all passion was gone.

Enough is enough.

It's plain to see:
You've found a new,
Beautiful girl...
I'll celebrate with you.
But I must ask one last
"One more thing"
Will you celebrate with me?
For today,
I've found my new muse...
And he's been there all along.

My trembling arms raise a hammer
above my head,
An "iron fist" of sorts.
With each weighted step
Towards my reflection,
My arms scream,
Threatening to buckle,
But I must push through the pain.
With a force I thought impossible
To muster up,
The hammer came down,
Shattering the mirror, and my reflection within.
A deep, warm breath filled
My belly and lungs;
It was the first real breath I'd had in weeks.
Fresh air had never tasted so sweet.

You see, all this time,
I held my shattered heart
In my own hands.
Only I, myself, was able to stand up
And start again.
Overwhelming guilt lost her jealous hold,
And control stepped to the plate.

When did you stop loving me?
Or maybe the question is why.
Sometimes I think we made a mistake,
But I can't buy into that lie.
We were just kids when we first met,
Kids when we fell in love.
Sixteen seemed so mature at the time,
But I see now it was never enough.
Do you remember the night
That I snuck out of my house,
And ran all the way to you?
We climbed up to the roof,
Laid back hand in hand,
And tried to count the stars.
You held me in your arms.
And every so often, you'd kiss my cheek
"One, two, three for I love you,"
you always used to say.
Your voice has now faded deep into my subconscious.
Sunrise stole our sweet moment away,
But when I slipped back
Through my window that morning,
I could taste you on my lips.
Sometime between that morning and this,
Your taste has been replaced by berry chapstick,
And your touch, by another.

Her lies were revealed.
Finally.
A year's delicate web
Of deceit, untangled.
I looked at her and said,
Have you no shame?
And with ice cold,
Black eyes,
She simply replied
*How could I have shame,
If the shame is yours to bear?

Only in silence
Do I hear my head's voices.
*Go ahead, end it.

Of all the pet names,
You used to call me Sunshine.
I'm not real sunny,
But you still called me Sunshine,
Up until the day it rained.

The rain pitter-patters outside,
Just out of reach.
It sounds hauntingly similar
To the click-clack of mother's heels,
Before she left last February.
Perpetually out of reach...
Just like the pitter-patter of the rain.


*I hear the pitter-patter,
click-clack,
but it's somewhere in the distance.

Look into my eyes.
Look into them.
Will you dare be the one
who'll look into my eyes
and say i know you're not okay?
I'm tired of hiding behind a facade.
Faking. Faker. Fake.
Please, don't intensify the problem;
Be a part of the solution.

You had the nerve, the sheer audacity,
To come in smelling of cigarettes and
Cheap alcohol.
Everything seemed to stop at that moment,
Except you
Slowly stumbling toward me
Clearly drunk,
With a cigarette dangling
from your fingertips.
I could smell you before I saw you...
The scent of failure
And desperation wafted though the air.
Bravo, babe.
You've done it again.
But you were always right,
Weren't you.
Even when you were wrong,
You were right 'cause
You couldn't stand to lose
To a stupid, spineless woman
Like myself.
You'll never get over me.
I'm the best thing
That has ever happened to you,
*****
Nobody's gonna come,
Wanting my used up sloppy seconds.
I'll always hold a piece of your heart,
To shatter as I please.
Sure enough, you do.
I tried to convince myself that you
Had no influence over me any more.
But you proved me wrong,
Stomped all over the few shards of dignity
That I still clung to.
Does that make you feel like a man?
After that you turned around and stumbled out,
With an air of self satisfaction about you...
And I finally realized something.
You might have had a hold on my heart
This very morning,
But you no longer do.
After all, you can't hold something
That doesn't exist anymore.

The wind blew colder this morning
than it has in a while.
It blew right between my dry, cracked fingers...

You always used to hold not one,
but both of my hands--
keeping them warm and hidden from the harsh
unforgiving world.

This morning, your absence was
nearly unbearable
(and my hands are still numb).

It's silly really
Sifting through picture
After picture
Just trying to find
The perfect image
To sum me up.
I don't even know
What it is that I'm
So desperately seeking after.
I've forgotten my purpose,
And doomed myself to choose
An image, not of me,
But of something else
Because honestly,
Using an image of myself is
technically me,
But I'm so much more than an image.
Sometimes I think
It would be better
To choose a random object,
Than a mere reflection of the hypocrite inside.

Most love poems sound the same.
The ones by desperate, lonely teenage girls
Are the cream of the crop,
Filled with every cliche in the freakin' book
From sparkling eyes, and shimmering hair
All the way to rippling muscles and the
Sweetest of kisses that leave you wishing you could just
Live in that moment.
Ugh, they make me want to die.
I'd be interested to read a real love poem,
Written with true emotion
And passion.
But that would require a genuine love,
Not a week long fling,
Or even better?
A one night stand.
I may be cynical,
But there must be a way
To express affection without the use
Of overworked cliches that make me want
To stop writing altogether.

It's been two whole months since I last saw him.
(And I'm not talking about a boyfriend,
Or a past love).
Two months have come
And gone
Since I last saw
My own father.
And the worst part is
I've liked it.

A little girl with the bluest eyes I'd ever seen
asked me if I know what happens when we die.
I smiled, and was about to answer when she said,
Don't worry. I'll tell you.

My mommy says it's like a big party,
and everyone that I know will be there,
each one having the time of his life.
Mommy says that God will have
chicken nuggets and Mac and cheese there
just for me, because he knows it's my favorite!
Isn't that sweet?

She smiled again, and went on to tell of
streets of gold, and a place
without pain, illness, or death-
a utopia of sorts,
and a God who made it all,
and who loves me specifically.

Her mother called out
Sophia! What did I say about talking to strangers sweetie?
Come here!
Sophia smiled, told me
she couldn't wait to see me again in heaven,
and went running off with her ponytail
swinging from one shoulder to another...
leaving me wishing that I believed it too.

After all, I really love mac and cheese.

It's gonna take me a long time to get over you
When I asked how long "long" is
You just shook your head.
Fair enough.
We sat in silence for a while.
Before then I'd never seen you cry,
But it was much more than just tears.
Blame, regret, and a certain brokenness
dripped* from your face,
Until there were no more words to say.
That was the hardest part-- no words.
We'd always had a plethora of stories,
Jokes, and lessons
To share with each other...
But when lightning struck the requiem
Behind which we hid,
I lost my ability to speak.
And so did you.

On the night of the next full moon, look for the girl with the dark red lips, and gold key
'round her thin, pale neck. She won't be hard to find, if you come with a shy
smile. Once you find her, ask her what the key keeps safe, and if
she smiles, take her by the hand, lean in close, and kiss her
face, and let her lead you. Don't try to take charge. She
will take you to the bus,where you will pay both of
your fares. (Don't try to talk to her on the bus
she will start to sob and leave you there.)
Once you're in town, away from the
street lights, take a sharp right on
8th street, and to an old torn
up tarp where she will
tell you to slit her
throat. And
you will
do it.

I have an unhealthy desire to pack my things,
take the next flight to anywhere,
and never look back.
Not even once.
Starting over in a new place
where no one knows my name
would be quite the adventure.
If one day, I up and left,
my mother would take it harder than anyone else,
but even she would need only shed a single tear
before the image of her other "good" children
charged to the front of her conscious.
Then I'd be able to watch her forget me,
but only from a safe distance.

Writing poetry about breaking up is juvenile,
I know.
Maybe one day, I'll stop;
But that would require me fully moving on first.

I feel like the world's biggest stalker.
We haven't even spoken in 2 months,
Which is monumental
When you consider the fact that
You alone
Occupied my evenings
For a year and a half.

A strange phenomenon happens
Every time I search for you
Here on Hello Poetry.

What is it you ask?
It's a certain tingling sensation
That starts somewhere secret
And creeps up my spine
Until my whole self is covered in prickly goosebumps.

When the sheer sight of your name
no longer holds the ability to send chills down my spine,
My pathetic poems will stop.

My parents are divorced,
And yes, it's plain to see
That their divorce affected me.

But that's old news.
I know one thing, one thing for sure:
That I am their child, but nothing more.

(Not a product of their misfortune)
If I've not been sentenced their same fate...
Why am I afraid to date?

The most beautiful smile I've ever seen
was accompanied by crinkled eyes,
and a figure so lean
(and don't forget those laugh lines!)
It lit up every room, and brightened any day,
and the eyes above it sparkled with compassion,
Until Death's cold grip snatched her away.

As we sat at lunch that day
(it seems so long ago now),
I tried to explain the ins
and outs of my breakup,
but burst into tears instead.
You're a boy,
and I forgive you for that;
but just like the typical boy,
you didn't quite know
how to hold
a sobbing female.
Figures.
But you tried anyway,
and I appreciate it.
In one fluid motion,
your arms were about me,
holding me to your chest
while I tried to refill my lungs with air.
Even through the snot and tears,
I could smell your laundry detergent,
and was comforted.
In that moment,
I could feel your heart race.

*But what you'll never know is mine did too.

No matter where I look today,
There are roses with notes that say,
"I love you, dear. Let's run away
Together; I can't wait another day."

Here I am -- once again, alone.
This time I've banished boys to the "friend zone";
I'm independent and can hold my own.
I need no man, or a beautiful stone.

Yet, I'm not content with the fee
I pay for solidarity.
I've no one to call me "honey"
Or to leave the light on for me.

Deep green eyes radiate a fear of inadequacy. . .
and intensity i'm not sure i'm capable of withstanding.
They tell me the horrors of your past,
and of the words which your lips lack the ability to form...
but we both need to hear them.

You.
You weren't the first thing
on my mind
when I woke up this morning.
My eyes fluttered open,
and for the first time,
in a long time,
my thoughts didn't
automatically float to you,
as if on cue.
I fear you're fading from my memory,
one soft kiss at a time.

i.
He stands at 6'8" --
the tallest man I know.
With his deep green eyes,
large calloused hands,
and a gentle disposition,
he's seemingly harmless. . .
That's what I had always assumed,
until the other night.

ii.
I was playing guitar
in my own little world,
happy,
and was abruptly shaken out of it
when he screamed,
"I'm going to smack the crap out of you",
and went plodding downstairs.
Immediately, an image of my mother flashed into my head.
My mother
My 5'4" mother,
with her shiny hair,
fragile hands, and beautiful smile,
being clobbered by her husband.

iii.
Part of me knew that he
must have been yelling at the dog,
but that image was more than enough
to make me realize what he is capable of.
My subconscious must be displaying the
Faults
of my perception.
  

*How strange.

You used to make such beautiful music --
both with your voice and your violin.
Your long, spindly fingers knew just where to press down
onto the fingerboard,
creating the perfect pitch. . .
People were always drawn to you,
despite your lies and deceitful heart
just beneath the surface.

I can't imagine being your mother,
having to bear the sheer embarrassment of
birthing such a vindictive child into the world.
I've seen your mother's pained expression
every time she looks at you--
tight lips, pressed firmly together, and
a face devoid of all
color,
life,
and love,
with deeply sunken, disdain filled eyes.

Do you feel safe around her?
I know I wouldn't.

I stepped into the bitter cold
Just to have snow blown on my face,
And an ice old wind force my eyes shut.
Mornings like this make me long for the beach
More than anything else,
(except you. . . But that's a different longing entirely).
I'd lay out on the sand,
Until I had that sun kissed glow
That only the beach can give,
If I were at the beach.
I wouldn't mind a little sand
In my salty, ocean tossed hair.
Maybe if I were at the beach,
I'd find a charming boy to whisk
Me away from everything with
Just one sweet, stolen kiss...
But that's a different longing entirely.

I gasp for air
that simply isn't
mine to
breathe.

I haven't painted my nails
since we were still
a happy couple.
Now they're chipped,
but i can't bring myself to
remove that blue-green polish
because it feels like the one little piece
of you that i still have.
Maybe once it all flakes off,
i'll be back to the old
me-without-you self.
Not having forgotten you,
just no longer dependent.
Baby, you were my alcohol
and now i'm just another addict
going through my first withdrawal.
I often wish that i could go back
to who i was before you,
but i have to find me first.
Until then, i'll endure the detox.

Today should have made a year and a half
Should have. . . but it didn't.
Instead of celebrating a day I'd looked forward to
for months, I tried to forget it.
But failed.
The funny thing about failure is this:
I usually don't know what i'm doing,
That's why I fail.
But not this time.
Maybe I don't know what I'm doing,
but I failed because I didn't want to forget it
I don't want to forget you.

Weeks have gone by, but I can still feel your arms around me.
You still haunt my dreams; I wonder
If there will ever come a day
When you don't.

I think about our lass kiss, back in early December.
The way you looked at me,
with so much love in your eyes,
and how you leaned in to steal one last kiss
before your parents stole you away from me.

You always had to steal kisses from me.

As we kissed our last kiss,
I felt you smile, and I smiled too.
I took a step back, just to be wrapped up in you
once again.
Little did I know that
was the last time you'd hold me like that.

I wish I could live in that moment.

I wrote you a letter, my love,
and was going to send it with your clothes,  
but I don't know if i can.
I asked my mother to mail your things back
the day after Christmas,
but they still sit on a chair in her room,
taunting me.

Sometimes, I wake up in the middle of the night
Sobbing,
Frantically searching for your hoodie
(I always used to sleep with it).
It is only when I cannot find it
that I am able to comprehend the fact
That you are no longer mine.

You will never again be mine.

As expected of the average teen,
It was a commonplace thing
for me to be awake
at 2 AM.

Now things are different.

9 o'clock onward used to be my
favorite time of the day.
The moon would dance across the sky
and everything was somehow
beautiful.
Especially you.

But now, I don't see the moon. . .
I only see your dimly lit face
through my computer,
and hear your deep voice.
Only see your hands
forming into hearts,
and a love in your eyes
that is no longer meant for me.

**That's when it's bedtime.

The dark, menacing clouds
roll in this morning --
Smothering all that lives
and breathes
the early March sunshine,
including my spirits.
But my spirits have always
been easy to crush. . .
and in turn , lift back up again.
But this particular morning,
the clouds are murderous,
the fog is suffocating,
the sun is nowhere to be seen,
and I know
. . .
I know my spirits will never lift again.

It's been 4 weeks exactly.
That's 28 days.
but in these past 28 days,
you've crossed my mind
more than 28 times.
Far more.
I pretend to listen in AP Lang,
but, really, i just sit there
and wonder how you are,
if you're moving on,
or if you're already there. . .
i worry that you're not getting enough rest,
and that you're having bad dreams.
i wonder if you see beauty in the world
like you used to.
I wonder if you're keeping up with precalc,
and taking your melatonin so your pesky
insomnia
won't keep you up..
Remember how you never used to take it?
Because you could fall asleep without trouble
as long as you heard my voice
that night.
You fell in love with
a voice,
and then me.
It's really kind of silly.
But then again, so did i.
I've read your latest poems,
and they both made me cry.
My eyes have leaked many times
since I last heard your voice. . .
But don't worry,
I'm not angry.
I just wonder about you,
and hope you're well,
or at least getting there.

*But most of all, I wonder if you ever think of me.