Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
Margaret Dec 2018
Late one night
walking home
alone
I felt a long pink
finger nail
touch the
pad of my thumb finger
and it was my own
and somehow

I thought
to my grandma

how many bottles
of pink nail polish
collected in that
far from antique
white plastic container
and at visits
the rummaging
I would do
inspecting each color
and she taught me how
to paint each nail
one on the left,
one in the center,
one on the right,
for each nail

and when they
were drying she
would tell me
to blow
I would sit
so tall and proud
for not having smudged them

Such a childish thing
and yet how warmly
I remember this
when she died
I could have all of her
nail polishes
Wow, it has been a long time since I wrote for Hello Poetry. I started writing on this website as the only outlet for an awkward teenaged girl who was the only one in her classes enjoying poetry. Looking back, the content I was putting on the site wasn’t very good, but I loved the community here. So much has changed since then and I think as you get older you come to realize less is more when it comes to poetry. (With amount of words used at least). It will sometimes be months since I’ve written anything, but I wrote this one late a night or two ago, recalling this memory of my grandma. When she died, I lost a huge mother figure  in my life. My own mother was not the type to paint nails.
Margaret Feb 2016
In a cloud of smoke you mask
At the bottom of a bottle she masks
Margaret Aug 2015
He wears a Beanie
Aviator Sunglasses
Stumble over wheels
Look
Eye contact
I smile
You blow a kiss
I want to wink
I don't
I smile
I like you
I'll never see you again
Bicycle boy.
An exchange in my car with a cute beanie boy on his bike.
Margaret May 2015
Are you there?
Prove yourself to me.
Is your name God?
Or is it Joe, or Tiffany.
God. Are you there?
Margaret Jan 2015
Everyday come
                             Fill me
Reflect off of me, please
                             Days go by
                             Day after day
You used to worship me.
                             Worship my truth.
You came to me like a
                               sinner and
                               spilled all
of your secrets in
                                        me.
I reflect my truth faithfully
                                         back at you.
And you act
                      like i'm
*****
From the perspective of a Mirror
Inspired by Sylvia Plath's "Mirror" :)
  Dec 2014 Margaret
Morgan B
What happened to all those,
I love you's,
And I couldn't live without you's?
Are they all just gone?
Margaret Dec 2014
Chaos at lunch
I study
A tap on the shoulder
"My friend likes you, can he have your number?"
An older boy

Shake my head no
You sure?
No.

Walks away
Minutes pass.

Should've said yes.
Should've said yes.
Next page