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Kendall Dinsmore May 2015
I can count every time I've cried in the last year
on my two hands
and more than half have been in the last month.
I'm sad because I've found my home in people
and something that feels so permanent
is so temporary.
Everyone leaves
and I'm not ready
to sit around campfires and talk about memories.
I've kissed bottles and inhaled poison
trying to feel full.
I've found love
but I feel empty
because everyone leaves
and nothing is permanent,
So how can home
be a person?
Kendall Dinsmore Apr 2015
I’ve put holes in my body,
and holes in my brain.
I’ve scarred my skin with ink
that will never leave.
I’ve found comfort in bottles
and home in flames.
But I am not warm;
the comfort is artificial.
And nothing is more permanent
than the hole that you left in me.
this sounds like a love poem but it is not
Kendall Dinsmore Feb 2015
I don’t really know what love is
and I wouldn’t say that I care to learn;
but what I do know is that
I have never been able
to sit in silence with anyone else
and have it sound more beautiful.
Kendall Dinsmore May 2014
Up and down the lumberyard fence old roses were dying.
All he knew was that something broke her.
She was pleasantly troubled
and “thank you” was an obligation she could not meet.
She thought to love anything too much was dangerous
so she loved everything just a little bit
And deep down in her ******* eyes, he saw no expression at all
But his had a bottomless longing for her
She was a women who drank champagne when there was nothing to celebrate
Sweet crazy conversations full of half sentences, day dreams and misunderstandings with her were more thrilling than understanding could ever be with anyone else.
But she was a women drifting from ruin
She said she had other things to worry about, and would not speak of love
But in unlit daylight her face smoothed his heart down
and the passion in her voice made him smile
Finally, out of love and a breakneck possessiveness that charged him
he placed a touch no heavier than a feather but loaded, nevertheless, with desire and in lamplight, their two shadows crossed and clashed on the ceiling like black swords.
After she left, he would never tell stories of her.
Not of how they would never hold hands but their shadows would
Or how when they met one another they neither described nor asked about the sorrow that drove them from one place to another.
But they made space for each other.
He only spoke of a gleaming powerful world made more so by her absence from it
He would keep the rest for himself, where it belonged: in the tobacco tin in his chest where a red heart used to be.
He was the first to smell the doomed roses.
I had to create a found poem from an excerpt of *Beloved* by Toni Morrison for my AP Lit class and this was what I came up with.
Kendall Dinsmore Feb 2014
You were beautiful and brilliant
Much like the sun.
Soon I discovered
another similarity you had
was that if got to close,
you would destroy me.
Kendall Dinsmore Jan 2014
In 2010, 12,996 people were murdered... in the US alone
An earthquake hit Haiti and killed 220,000 people.
Floods in Pakistan left 11 million homeless.
That year there were 237,868 **** cases... that were reported.
1,529,560 American citizens were diagnosed with cancer
And about 200,000 people died due to dehydration.
So please, tell me how you’re having a bad day.
Tell me how your house was too cold when you rolled out of bed.
How the women who made your coffee didn’t put enough cream in it.
Tell me about the job that keeps a roof over your head and food in your stomach and how much you hate it.
Tell me about the leftover morsels of burnt food sitting in your trashcan that weren’t good enough for you to eat while hundreds of thousands of children go hungry every day.
Tell me about how your kids were too loud and gave you a headache
And tell me about the acetaminophen sitting in your cabinet, available within seconds while people are dying all over the world with incurable diseases.
Tell me about the traffic you were stuck in when others are walking their travels with no shoes.
Tell me about how unfortunate we are to have tragedies so small that they can balance on a tight rope with no struggle.
Malala Yousafzai was shot in the head in an assassination attempt.
She was unconscious for months and no one thought she would be able to function properly again.
But she did.
She woke up without a complaint and continued to fight for education rights in Pakistan for women.
Did I mention that she was only fifteen?
So tell me how Monday mornings are too hard for you to get out of bed.
How you’re exhausted of always working, always learning,
Always having the opportunities to do so.
Tell me how your alarm clock sings the marching song to your own personal hell.
And how the jacket that keeps you warm is the wrong color.
So I dare you
Every time you get the urge
to open your mouth and complain about whatever little problems ail you,
Instead of letting negativity fly from between your lips
Say something that has gone right with today.
Sure, there was traffic, but you had the time to listen to your favorite song...
One or nine times.
Maybe your kids were too loud, but at least it was their laughter instead of their cries.
Let the good outweigh the bad
And see the world through a kaleidoscope tinted with positivity.
Realize some people have had it worse than you ever have from the day that they were born.
And stop picking out the small struggles that could easily be covered by the fortune you have just by waking up in the right place every morning.
Be grateful that you aren’t only allowed to come to school each day,
But you are encouraged to do so.
Your small talk does not need to be filled to the brim with negativity
When you see a glass of water, don’t contemplate on whether it is half full or half empty.
There is water there so drink it.
Kendall Dinsmore Jan 2014
Midnight whispers of forgotten souls
creep down my spine
and remind me of a place
I once called home.
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