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Dec 2015 · 712
The Death of Summer
Laurel Elizabeth Dec 2015
God killed Summer.

But caught her mid-Fall,
And laid her in a goldenrod dress.
We held our breath-and wept
To see her more lovely in sleep:
        Green eyes closed brown,
                   Crimson lips
                           Windswept hair

God cried hardest-
Saturated her bedside in rain.
We drank deep draughts of her vibrant complexion
Brandishing onto our gaze
Her rosy palms and frosting fingers.

God blanketed Summer.
With a sheet of fine lace,
And lowered her into the earth.

We trudged home in the snow.
Her warmth had left us cold,
But we carried God's promise burning our ears:

"Whatever entity I take,
With tenfold will I bring.
Our Summer's hardy, just you wait-
And from her grave she'll Spring!"
Jun 2014 · 786
The Hospital Bed Petition
Laurel Elizabeth Jun 2014
Kiss me.  
                                 Kiss me, soft, as I am… passing.  
          kiss me while my lips are burning, while I yet believe in romance
                                  with soft blush face,
                                                                ­ hammer heart,
                                                                ­                        sloppy eyelashes.



                     Lift me.  
   Lift me like a child on stilts, elevated above the feeble dreams of adults
                                            with tendons taught,
                                                                ­  fingers splayed,
                                                                ­              playing my hair like seaweed


bless me.
                              bless me with your consciousness,
          with your most pensive furrowed brows
                                                         with your aspirations
bless me with your future.

Feed me.  
                                    Feed me at my bedside—but not just tepid broth.
                       Feed me the window view
                                                     when my eyes forget to flash,

Feed me the sky

Free me.  
                          from the IV,
                                       the monitors,
                                                          the smell of chlorine

          So that it may be you and the moon
that sing my last lullaby.
Jun 2014 · 2.1k
Empathy
Laurel Elizabeth Jun 2014
Don’t just take a walk in my shoes. Become my feet.
May 2014 · 1.1k
Tidbit 2
Laurel Elizabeth May 2014
I  miss you all humdrum floppy eyed
like crinkle face spit flying mad people

I Miss You Cause You Are Crazy 2

you are petroleum seeping through my brain waves
and when i light the fuse

You'll just about blow the place sky High.
May 2014 · 522
Prayer for the Travelers
Laurel Elizabeth May 2014
You stepped inside a pinhole
and found yourself in water                            
                                                   you and your floatings, prayers, gloatings

dripped listlessly through
others’ problems,                     funerals, bad jokes-
every persons puddle music
in a torrent of watery grievance

Welcome to [Big City,   Foreigner Country]—Traveler.

This ocean smells awfully polluted
and not just the grey in the air
but the blood in the streets from the
succulent meats.
and the way that the people stare.


but tread lightly,                  and don’t drown,
you fishes from other lands,
Chin up!
your gills open-- and you will find that you
swim as the culture demands.

bless you, watery wanderers,
with your blessings and cursings
and tears.
for this ocean of raging attitudes
is made human by all of your fears.
Feb 2014 · 1.0k
I'm back.
Laurel Elizabeth Feb 2014
Move over incompetence-
That’s my seat.  

We’ll have tea.  The herbal variety.
And talk about my listless absence
over rosehips and peppermint.

It has been a long road trip
on awkward interstates,
since I have eaten poetry.
It tastes tangy on my tongue-
tahini and tap water,
like salad dressing gone south.  

I went south, since last we spoke.  
I cry still for the colors,
the blues and greens that burned my eyes
and transfigured my palette.
The mountains spoke foreign languages
but blessed me with new ears to hear,
but I did not record their tales.

I sit now trying to catch a shimmer of their dialect
but I am full of empty English.

I repent now,
of my caustic neglect,
to the nymphs of creative order—
and humbly bow myself to the sword of
articulated
chaos.
Dec 2013 · 1.2k
Abhorred Comfort Zone
Laurel Elizabeth Dec 2013
[allow] me to lick the Newness:

off your face,
                                                                     away from the yapping white noise in the distance,
out of the infant smile you shed.

Lets dance the color of welded [souls]

                                                       all you who fracture under [the heavy mass
of] my emerging grin, cast the [humanity]
from your leaden chins

lets [radiate beyond our stiff] elderly shells-

stretch to the most intricate composition
of every genre of pebble [person]

Don’t stop there!

                                                                     [pass] pockets of serendipity to the greyest nimbus,
the slightest twitch of grass,
the [breath] of soil.

why must we comfort Zones?

                                                          I will ****** your plush practiced demeanor
to [nurse] your pallid glimmers
of certified [You].
Nov 2013 · 1.2k
The Climber's Lament
Laurel Elizabeth Nov 2013
Tendonitis                                                       ­                                                                 ­                                        
is a small price to pay for euphoria.                                                        ­                                                          

he gasped at the brink of
                                    success
mouth agape and strained
like pulled taffy
This project
embraced him entirely
consumed like a long lost relative
Sometimes we don’t climb.                                                           ­                                                                 ­        
we dance.                                                           ­                                                                 ­                                      
It was no longer clear
whether he climbed more than
the earth climbed him: she clambered inside,
ascending further into his psyche
with every
stretched, pulsing
muscle grasp
happiness bleeds into our                                                              ­                                                                 ­     
contorted                                                       ­                                                                 ­                                          
torso-Grace.          ­                                                                 ­                                                                 ­                
like water running the                                                              ­                                                                 ­           
pigment lines of                                                               ­                                                                 ­                    
saturated paintings.                                                       ­                                                                 ­                      
He cried out
impassioned,
shedding the skin of his palms
again-
upturned and reaching
like a caustic supplication
endowed with
vibrating desire,
quaking faith.

This time
he fell hard.
and again,
slap mat against the grain
of success
flung downward
like a thrice worn shirt

But wait-
and watch.
She calls him weeping-
a contrite lover
and he will return
to her brutality
nursed with humility-
intoxicated with exhilaration.
I have recently become very involved with rock climbing.  I have asked myself, why do I feel so passionate about this when it hurts so much and is so frustrating?  This poem is an exploration of that juxtaposition.
Laurel Elizabeth Nov 2013
Life is the prattle of an old lady.

She squawks either too loudly
or makes you crane to hear.

as she sits rocking,
her senile nonsense numbs your intelligence
until you sit bleary-
gaping at the air
like the fattest fish in the aquarium.

your every comment drowns
in the mush
of her tapioca voice.

you sit uncomfortably in her fishbowl world of
cottage cheese,
faded floral print- lace doilies
and contemplate your deft superiority
as her denture clicks gnaw on your sanity.

as soon as you think
a vague plotline surfaces in her mumbling
a new great aunt’s third cousin’s baby
weaves its way into the conversation,
and you are hopelessly thrown
like a reused dryer sheet
back into the colored load.

occasionally you attempt to establish a connection
between you and the venerable wrinkled smile
but she mishears and begins another
disconnected strain
featuring Bobby, the lad turned soldier.

but
just
as soon as you gain confidence
that you know how to handle this doddery senior-
she slams you with a small token
of sage advice
that shatters your naïve sphere
with its mind-wrenching validity.
Nov 2013 · 1.6k
The Bluest Eyed Glance
Laurel Elizabeth Nov 2013
Cyan*
has such a brackish mark
upon your passive visage-
it transfigures boldly, tempestuously
any average glance flung facetiously in my direction.

Dearest Rogue Element,
You invigorate all other
salient features.
Like the slip of a blunt knife,
you surge open your soul, compelling
any audacious personality to bleed through the wound of your
gaping irises.
You betroth yourself to
the Fascinating, the Creative,
and like the cascade of clearest french horn lamentation-
you stir my
emotions with a mournful compassionate caress.

And that’s the difference.
The mellow mahogany of my eyes
provides the most loving background for Light to
reflect her dancing valiance with reverent adoration.

But-
your Blue
will
forever
stride as the
arrogant foreground.
Commanding and eternally vexing, (captivating) me
with your gaudy juxtaposition
of angry intensity
and poignant serenity.
Laurel Elizabeth Nov 2013
I long
                    like
something plush weeping
         into a pillowed hug

of empty oxygen

though I try the Brave Game,
                                         (and usually win)
               flakes of me run
           off my arms and face
and scrounge around the corners of the room
          
                                                           looking for your mellow sting.

supposedly,
heartache
is figurative.
                        But I definitely feel
a              s t r e t c h i n g
mush
right where
the Doctors say my heart
                       should probably be

a slight tremor
(      echoes      )
      through every joint
of my toy frame,
              like a thousand elfin voices talking
                      about your favorite foods,
                      and the color of your hugs.

    the tightening
muscles of my throat
        send their regards to your
amicable eyes

              2.5 is a smallish bird
when one observes
             the blue expanse of my ocean life
but it pecks my most tender tissues
                     when I sit [flat] inside Today.

I miss
      like
someone resized my skin

                                            incompetently.

though I am grateful
for your delicate absence
                      (the elusive Good deserves you most)

I feel as if
the petty bird’s wing tensions
        won’t be satisfied
with the look of my dappled shoulders
till you stroke them densely
with your matter-of-fact fingers.
Nov 2013 · 1.5k
Yarn Romance
Laurel Elizabeth Nov 2013
I spent today reeling you in.
                     threads of your silk love
fluttered through the air  
                     like broken, escaped spider webs

                                                  how can you be at once everywhere and nowhere?
                                                        ­            on an old voyage moment
                                                        yo­u rebuked me:
            “You’re looking with the wrong eyes,
my dear”
              But my eyes don’t dart differently.

                            I sit with the innumerable knots of your
                                                                ­         miscellaneous elations.
                                                       I sift for the ends to start
                                    unraveling, adapting
                         but maybe you are just one continuous
Idea

             as lo
ng as we’
     re
tan
         gled,

                              Bind
                the­ fibers of my physical being
                              catch
                   ­       the flapping petals
                                         falling from my
          composed mannerisms

                      stitch
                 your whimsy
                                          into each atom
                                     of my salient figure-

fuse your feathered fabric
into my most raw elements.

                               My life is a matted disarray
                                  of your truest notions-

A yarn Mount choreographed from
the diminutive strands
of your blinking captured freedom

                                    I spent today reeling you in-

So- entwine me, Love,
net me forever, Sweet,
my dearest jumble to disentangle
Nov 2013 · 1.6k
The Arch Nemesis
Laurel Elizabeth Nov 2013
He is my least favorite vegetable.
                                                   
                       No amount or level of preparation makes him taste better:
Boiling-
brings out his bulbous, insipid ego
the texture of his flamboyant ignorance.

when I timorously sip him in soups or broths,
his oozing insidious misogyny
contaminates my blissful dining, contorts any ingredients still pure.

I fry him, striving to remove the  
excess of impertinence which
permeates the oxygen I feebly inhale.
but he evades my maneuvers:
usurps bliss and violates all semblance of tranquility

I cannot prevail
against the throb of his assaulting narcissism

I must instead attempt
to comment
(arduously, fraudulently)
on the delicate iridescence of his silkily mucoused membranes
and admire deftly
his indefatigable ventures to pervade my
every.
serenity.
Nov 2013 · 1.2k
Dear Best Friend
Laurel Elizabeth Nov 2013
Dear Best friend.
                       I cried today.
Not because you left me dancing in
                another hemisphere.
Not because I receive one paragraph
       of sparse-nothing information
                   from you a week.

Nay-

I cried because
you are the kind of best friend
who wafts beside me
                                                                            (like that time we led each other with our eyes
                                                                                                                             closed through the
                                                                                        crowded theme park-full of nonchalant
                                                                                                                        cotton-candy-people)
in all my sly, lively moments
and exerts more merry influence upon my wanderings
than all the other

7 billions souls on this               [The Foolish Blue Globe]
put together.
Nov 2013 · 1.2k
The wrong name
Laurel Elizabeth Nov 2013
I live in a world
            full of people with your name
but not the way you articulate the consonants
            or the way your eyes dare
listeners to
            contradict your intricate intonation.

                      correction

I live in a world
           full of people who think they can have your name
without having your soul.
Oct 2013 · 776
Sticker days
Laurel Elizabeth Oct 2013
sweep me off my*

                         *insolence


because every mood
when
we absorb one another’s irises
spins me in such poignant fragrance
as if to say
                            “my now is yes
                              between your fingers”
Oct 2013 · 878
Lemon Love
Laurel Elizabeth Oct 2013
I love you like the first lemon I tasted
you stormed into my life
                             (like the sour in my face.)

        you changed the expressions I choose to wear too…
but instead of making the grimace-squeeze face of
                            acidic lemon

                                              I tend to be too busy smiling.
Oct 2013 · 1.1k
Tidbit
Laurel Elizabeth Oct 2013
Sometimes I mistake you for euphoria,
for as you drip pigment into the colors
of my irises, they can no longer focus
for shaking iridescent mirth.
Oct 2013 · 514
XLVI.
Laurel Elizabeth Oct 2013
You doubt my happiness because
it has been too long
since you have smiled
without straining your smirk.
Oct 2013 · 653
XLXII.
Laurel Elizabeth Oct 2013
You see the whitest sliver of my personality
and call it my everything.
from each glance you
discover a New world of grievances,
proclaiming deftly that you
have found out my deepest secrets,
my façade,
my hidden purposes.

But really-
It was just a glance.
Oct 2013 · 1.3k
Hypocrite
Laurel Elizabeth Oct 2013
Stickysappy
pupils
gather images
withoutbeneath
classically
trained “understanding”
Blinking colored pixalfree
(nonsense.)
everything inside- Happy
out of focus

But believe me
(when I say)
You do not see
as well as I do,
with your
*Unadulterated Vision.
Oct 2013 · 717
The moment thought.
Laurel Elizabeth Oct 2013
I sit thinking, rocking, musing on the edge of the bed- perusing the colors of your memory blinking fractionally in my remote consciousness.  How is it that when I probe tighter, more thoroughly into your visage, trying to define the shape of your face from the faces of my dreams you tend to hide more than ever behind the noise of my thoughts? But the instant I clip into happiness you are there laughing and hugging and spreading lightness on my plaster cast life.  I suppose I need to forget this sticky fear of forgetting you.  You shape my clay life, pressing deftly upon my mind and habits like a waffle iron crisping batter.  I must not forget that I am too deeply stuck in love with you to ever bleed you from my mind.
Oct 2013 · 651
...
Laurel Elizabeth Oct 2013
...
…and if again he is the flavoring,
why perchance not allow my waltz
to frolic circles round your
Sage Advice-

Throughout all the whimsy
and laughing silent kisses
(bubbled pinked ribboned fluff)
there sequestered sits
MY ultimate sincerity severity.

Quit scoffing whilst you’ve lost your savor
          his Now is my favorite flavor.
Oct 2013 · 639
Whatever Is Done By Only Me
Laurel Elizabeth Oct 2013
Every slightest gasp of breath
that clears my shoulders of their weight
belongs between the slightest space
that grip the letters of your name

and all the running, shouting sounds
of children playing in the street
the sanctuary where they bound
bears a shadow of your frame

You’re thick inside relief, my dear,
the air hangs flat- its languidness
in awe of piercing shafts of light
which knife them at their brightest core

your coursing spate of energy
tumults the dust, reshapes the room
encapsulates the shredded mass
and leaves the fragments pleading more

As I have pranced this newborn space
and shed my skins of weariness
I’ve ascertained a whimsy fact
that I have found forever true:
I cannot cut the air, my dear
without delightful consequence
of lacerating you
Oct 2013 · 576
XXI.
Laurel Elizabeth Oct 2013
Gift my Heart
Oh diminutive finch.

once you chortled
gleefully,
cutestuck
in my happy compliment sky.

Do I forgive your migration?
You flighty fuzzball!
vacating briskly, frigidly
the premeditated enclosure
perfectly designed for your every need.

your obdurate flight
left perfect circles of Hollow
(spaces eating my gaze,
like black holes
ravaging stars)

No,
I am too imbecilic.
You left breadcrumbs
trailing from the Candy House-
and I intend not to be eaten.

could not I come, however?

                                                                           [you are a soft word of extra cream and when I think upon
                                                                                                                              you I cannot keep pretending
                                                                                          that I would have you stay anymore than I would
                                                                                               trade your laugh for any other flecked miracle]

Thus I am resolved.
I shall be your migration.
The knife of your eagle glimpse
shall perceive nothing
without my invisible acquiescence.
your talons
shall clutch with the strength of my
most bashful beam

Oh my reddest-tailed raptor!
as you hunt and fish
the wildernesses I mustn’t trample,
I will draft your flight,

But only,
my mellow heron,
If you promise to leave me a feather,
with which to heavy my heart.
Laurel Elizabeth Oct 2013
You are the blue tangled                                                              
            mass of string in my bathroom
cabinet I cannot see where you end or
where you begin you embrace all of                                                                                      
                                             my little trinkets with your vibrant
hue and when I think I find the end of                                              
                                                                                         you you laugh at my silly idea and
lead me somewhere entirely different

when you sleep in my hands- a sweet                                                                                      
                   silk nothing almost- you deliver the
calmest sensation and I find that the more                                
I try to detach you from the little pieces
                                                           of my everything the more determined you
are to laugh                                                    

but I like your laugh it bubbles my mind                                                              
                                            so I suppose you are welcome to stay
twisting your carefree blue fibers around
my eye drops and bracelets and love                                                              

you can stay
because the blue tangled string is you
Oct 2013 · 749
The Fools
Laurel Elizabeth Oct 2013
They talk phrases that have no meaning to them
saturated in ignorance
like frogs in formaldehyde.
Let’s cut them open
(In a formal procedural sanitary way)
and see what causes them
so much confusion
and so much conviction
that they are Right
and those with working brain matter are not.
Oct 2013 · 587
XLVI.
Laurel Elizabeth Oct 2013
Yesterday, in a fit of laughing passion
                               and monstrous adrenaline
I spun out of my dorm and
                                          went long boarding.
                                                                            between the speed wobbles and
                        maniacal laughter emanating from my
                 masterful failure, I dreamt slyly that
                                                        you were the wheels carrying me crazily
zigzagged through the flushed streets
or maybe
you wove the road that carved
                                                              into my emotion- threatening both
                                                                  that you will act too placidly or at the same time maybe
                              too precariously.  (ripping my shaking
                                                                ankles from their humanity and
                                                                                         introducing them suddenly-obnoxiously to               Course Pavement) You do have that
                                               kind of capacity you know, to
                                                                                     lift me into a peaceful rest or
       throw me into a turbulent anarchic spiral.  
But truly you are the 100 % bamboo
                            flexible fibers flowing
                                                              between me and the gravel demise lifting me
                                                   gently upon the wind of the road,
                          the adrenaline that courses through my sporadic
                                                                                                   insistence and
                                              the breeze that whites my cheeks and
                                                 sings my lullaby relationship between speed
and the thin thread of life
                                             spinning through my caustic veins.
Laurel Elizabeth Oct 2013
The brain freeze of
mundane ordinary life squish.  
the mellow death of everything
hopeful, mischievous, quizzical
remembered only at a sad graveside funeral
in the back of the trailer-park of your brain.
Oct 2013 · 403
The Man Of Too Few Words
Laurel Elizabeth Oct 2013
This sounds like a conspiracy theory.

She said bitterly, stoically
               I agree-
                          Said he
I think we are talking about being brainwashed
              I agree-
Think of the children!  The little ones caught in this mush of politics!
              I agree-
If we stay here and do nothing, the world will soon collapse! You know that dear?
             I agree-
This is a problem too wretched to handle! We should probably move to Canada.
                     …
Why can’t we do anything about this dilemma?!  What is to be done?
             I am a man of few words-
I am a woman of far too many.
             I agree.
Oct 2013 · 611
Spanning The Distance
Laurel Elizabeth Oct 2013
I reach across the blue to you,
surging my tendons, fingertips to glance a few more
inches, feet, miles
my strength emanating from
the small simple sips
I take from the draught of your eloquence.

I wisp across the seconds to you,
minutes, hours, days,
tendrils of curling hope
straining like willowed boughs
in a mouthful of destiny.

It exhausts my veins to venture so,
and I would feign and let you go
with courage flat and valor slow
if I did not whole heartedly know
that you were reaching too.
Oct 2013 · 888
The Sunflower Souls
Laurel Elizabeth Oct 2013
Look at you all-
off dancing in another hemisphere,
sewing pockets of sunflower
every footstep you take


Between the three of you,
you wrap my heart in a neat little
Christmas package?
Birthday present maybe-
crisp and prim like a pudding.

though there are seconds of minutes of days
where seeds of your image, droplets of your countenance
shatter my inhale or obstruct my vision-momentarily
I feel as if it were I that planted you
in the funny other hemisphere-
surrounded you with soily sunny happiness
*just to watch you grow
Oct 2013 · 630
My Mutt
Laurel Elizabeth Oct 2013
brown eyes
lick the remainder of
my teary bleary humanity-
kiss the stress off trembling shins
shed on
all very important documents
professing to know
just exactly the right way to suffer
Oct 2013 · 488
The Late At Night
Laurel Elizabeth Oct 2013
my eyes
like grey, dish-has-been-washed-liquid
mellow at the sh-sh of night

but my mouth
brook babbles
blinking rapidly
like distracted toddler eyes
popping your name into the yes of time
to sample your existence
Laurel Elizabeth Oct 2013
What would I do without my fondest delirium?
he stalks my outside musings
he surprises my sharpest joy within
the dullest treading tumult.

I love the embrace of his watchful eye
he peruses my dreams,
a chef sampling caviar laced Hors d'oeuvres.

I speak to him through every reflection
the blank stare of vending machine glass,
the audacity of bathroom mirrored lashes,
the subtle wink of windows, skylights, vistas
every portal into another expanse
blasts me into the remainder of his silhouette.

What would I do without my fondest delirium?
he is the simplest clarity upon my devoted retinas
Oct 2013 · 1.1k
Dearest Abstract,
Laurel Elizabeth Oct 2013
Dearest Abstract,
tell me-
what color you drip when you laugh?
how many languages do you tempest?
when you cry, who spills deeper
you, or the rain?
You abridge me into a litany of mysterious elations.
I asphyxiate inside your rapid joy
and you drive me past my fondest entropy.
I fawn at your luscious humor.
Dearest Abstract,
take me-
outside the realm of plastic men
into the hive of the eloquent-
will o’ the wisp denizens
who flaunts shafts of pickled delight
like isolated pilgrim adventure.
Dearest Abstract
Allow me to dive into the furrows of your didactic faith
and there consume me raw.
Oct 2013 · 1.9k
Environment Flirtation
Laurel Elizabeth Oct 2013
I caught that blush
you sly mountainous expanse.
He flirted with you-
breathing light his
nimbus whimsy on your cheeks and now
you sit frosted
defiled and iced
with clear
crystalline fancy.

your rouge smile
left a stain on my mind
your craggy laughter
spreads adventure on my soul.

The light cannot leave you alone
he battles with the clouds
to illuminate your colorful features.
his envious gaze leaves
your autumn blotched cheeks
radiant with reflection
of his affection

Oh mountain of mine,
you stick out in this landscape as
the only maiden worth pursuing-
the strongest mark upon the horizon
and I too,
am in love with you.
Oct 2013 · 2.8k
Mind Industrialization
Laurel Elizabeth Oct 2013
You change my mind like a massive industrial factory.
Because flowers.
Supposing friendly.
What if therefore.

You crush my forethought in your mandible machinery
For after yellow.
Beside a lake.
Through crimson humility.

I melt under your molten supervision on the grandest scale
Melodic franchise.
Hypothesize sunbeams.
And if replace me.

You reorient my viewpoints on your conveyor belt of
liquidated mellow
jurisdiction.
Oct 2013 · 3.8k
Rivalry Game
Laurel Elizabeth Oct 2013
H
e
r
e we stand
rocking in each other’s sweat
and frothy anticipation
we sell our individuality
and purchase-
The Personality
a seething mass of vivid
B
l
u
e
watery voices
bathing the bleachers with
rival cruelty.
patriotic camaraderie.
our future residing on the chasm
that is the
1
0
0

y
a
r
d line.
Oct 2013 · 1.7k
Jealousy
Laurel Elizabeth Oct 2013
So there I saw-
and then I curled
into my fetal ball of envy

my happiness had coagulated
and chilled
like a refrozen popsicle
at the back of the freezer.

even if you melted
my
stale
cracked
enclosure
you would still smell
the jealous-
like
hangover
on my breath

I swear it even
exploits my muscles
my tendons grimace
like massive internal
pulley systems.

when my mind
frowns condescendingly
at my juvenile grievances,
the follies laugh their
disassembled modulations
and ignore my pleas

no-it takes more than that.
my every yellow Laureling
becomes a necessity
to coax, soften my
serpentine
charity
from whence I have locked it.
Oct 2013 · 504
Repetitions
Laurel Elizabeth Oct 2013
These
mauve colored seats with the classic
delta pattern
have never looked good.  
They don’t when I sit in them,
they didn’t when you sat in them.

but you did sit in them.
so they are my favorite part of this room.

or maybe I like best the awkward colored walls
made from ribbed tan brick.
I like them because you hated them too.

No.
now that I am
scanning this cumbersome auditorium
the unwieldy
plastic
beige clock
which must have been counting seconds
for thirty years at least
stands out
as the most fantastic element
because it clumsily timed your Poli Sci lectures
too.

I laugh across the ages to you
we comment on the drab melancholy
with weary satisfaction.
As I warm the same mauve seats
where you once took identical notes.
Oct 2013 · 577
Art, Thou?
Laurel Elizabeth Oct 2013
Art, thou my duty?
perhaps thou Art my necessity-
my respite from numbed negligent
washed-out blurs

when I stray from your gaze, thou Art my scolding mother
retracting my footprints
reeling in my philosophies and
signing them with your brutish mark.

you let me see nothing,
without first whispering what should be captured.

But I am the gasping fish.
truth be told-
you only come when beckoned

I haunt you like a mosquito to a sleeper.

I need you to pound my head with energy
fill my stupor with crazed innovation
force my hand upon crayons, pencil, marker
to capture your ambiguous sighs.

I am thy vessel-
you Art my soul.
Oct 2013 · 976
Introductions
Laurel Elizabeth Oct 2013
Hi.

[i like the way you face me when you talk to me]

So, um.*

[you even blink your eyes with just the right timing]

What’s your name?

[i’ll bet you have a good orthodontist cause i’d say your teeth are better than most]

That’s nice.

[you must have good hygiene or a good mother cause that shirt is starched]

Well,

[how do you hold yourself so confidently? did you take public speaking courses?]

Nice to

[i feel calmer in your presence than anyone else in the room]

*Meet you.
Oct 2013 · 642
Anyone's Noone
Laurel Elizabeth Oct 2013
you monolith the shade of my footsteps
(let’s fluctuate our emotion
so that when
you ***** in puddles
you can feel my dry comforter skin
and I
will repeat your dimples
when I’ve misplaced my humor)

you makeshift my silly condolences
(let’s pretend
that all is everything alright
and when
the wiser awk
wardly
pass their sympathy
we can shrug jumpy
joy)

you harmonize my musings
(let’s crouch
flinging insouciant
postulations
without proper schooling
with bona fide
elation)

so that I may be your noone
when you are my anyone.
Laurel Elizabeth Oct 2013
you catch me at my most divine moments
when I breathe the air of deity,
you are the oxygen

you red my blood with your fervor
and when I wander listless
you net my efforts

sometimes I ponder on your
boisterous hilarity,
your smile in the softest despondent instance.

but alas
there is not comprehension
that will paint the right
glimmer in your eyes.

I must content myself
with the elation
of being your confidant.

thus confide in me your most shattering joys,
and we will huddle upon the grandeurs
lost in the subtle gradations
for as long as we like

shall we sift through the faces
and find the red and crying
the blue and hopeless?

we shall.
and we will brush upon them
the most cheerful spectrums
with the same instruments
by which you saved my smile.
Oct 2013 · 1.1k
Splatter, Paint.
Laurel Elizabeth Oct 2013
Hello Pigment.
I missed your squish-
your fingers staining my favorite picture books.

I need your oily claws
your head-mashing whiff
the way you smile with toothy indifference

you climb over
all walls I orchestrate
and sit turgid
with bright Grandiose on my blanched skin.

my life is your palette,
you have moved in like a sloppy roommate
and your haphazard possessions drape the cabinets,
the chair,
the sink.
I love it.

you inhabit every vacancy
-a bulky mass of
magical “art”
and
no matter how much I mix your
complementary colors,
you appear
ever so bright.  

please… don’t leave me open canvased.  
splotch to me left and right
taint any negative space
barge in without
pusillanimous footsteps.
whip your camel hair bristles
all over my pages.
color me, pigment!
                  
             Splatter, Paint.
Oct 2013 · 462
Drop It.
Laurel Elizabeth Oct 2013
YOU’RE NOT MY PROJECT. IT’S NOT MY JOB.
I tiptoed inside your eyes and found
a simpler tune, a softer sound
a curve in your straight-backed regime
to hate the world, to dim your gleam
YOU’RE NOT MY PROJECT. IT’S NOT MY JOB.
I pickaxed deftly your hushed façade,
to break your cool, your soul to ****,
I was rewarded, you melted thick
I bit your nails down to the quick
YOU’RE NOT MY PROJECT. IT’S NOT MY JOB.
I chanted slyly my Godspeed rhyme,
(behind the veil of passing time)
your soul rose like a fish to fly
your mind ignored and passed it by
YOU’RE NOT MY PROJECT. IT’S NOT MY JOB.
I’ve pricked your thoughts sharp, now I’ll wait
(I can’t force you to take the bait)
your life will dance if you but heed
but I will melt if you’ve no need.
Laurel Elizabeth Oct 2013
when I say
“stopthis, trythat”
I speak not from the rooftops
or the pulpit.

(I feel like a small
termite
that has gnawed through your
wooden visage and delved into
certified you-
I speak
from
the
inside
red layer of your giant
possibility)

The Master of your creation gave me
colored glasses
and through them I can see
[   you   ]
as you could become.
Potential.
(as You are truly)

I wish
I could tear your very trained
highly efficient
scowl
off your luminescent tie dye soul

and strike you thunderously
with coursing hope
that transcribes my spirit
onto the finest parchment paper
of time
and original Home

then instill the clearest oxygen
for your gasping
eyes

gift you with the smallest tokens
of supreme still

I am the dog scratching at the door.
it’s raining and I hate the cold
so as I whine and shuffle my feet
do me a favor:
Don’t shut me out.
Laurel Elizabeth Oct 2013
you rise and fall like a symphony
(My silk screen diaphanous breeze)

I swim through your History,
(the coral reef of vivid crazy textured nonsense love)
saturated by the light refracted
into your marine metropolis

I coalesce into your voice
(melted butter creamed currant pastry)
and unfurl evenly.
(your solvent arms
propel my luck to fill every container
of your buoyant sounds)

you dance on my sidewalks like
Charlie Brown’s gang
(bobbing caricatured spreading smiley joke random)
you take my crinkling brow
and soften its creases
like newly pugged clay

Be my crutch,
my original thought,
my epiphany,
(reshaping nuance unforeseen renew reold aspiration),
my false laugh
(when I get hurt and love you too much to show it)
my recorded comfort
weaving precious merriment around my every gesture
Oct 2013 · 3.4k
Picnic Love
Laurel Elizabeth Oct 2013
Waltz me into the circle of your thought
chocolate dip me into the raspberry mint of your voice
chastise me into the grip of your giving arms
so that I may forever melon your picnic.
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