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Mary L Sep 2020
I hung up the phone

And collapsed into myself, sobbing

The sky was honey gold with rainbows

And the ocean was a lovely royal blue

You don’t think of me in THAT way

And I wish I didn’t too

I was crying cuz I felt myself physically lose something I had come to depend on


I was crying with my eyes shut to pretend nothing happened


I was crying over that rainy Sunday morning in the parking lot

When I couldn’t flip my skateboard like you

You held my shaky hands

So that when I thought I would fall you would be right there, your calm hands in mine, your breath on my forehead,

When I fell you fell with me,

Cuz when we go down,

We go down together,

But this time, I was falling FOR you,

Tripping over my laces for you,

Head spinning for you,

Breath catching for you,

With nobody there to catch me.
first poem
  May 2018 Mary L
when a poet falls in love with you
you can never die
they will notice the way
you rub your palms and look down
when someone is angry at you
and the way you smirk
as you pull away from a kiss

they will notice how you can't sleep
without your body touching someone else's
how you never crease any pages of books
and how you close your eyes when you dance in your kitchen
with your record player on

they will find all of the words
that they see you as
and turn them into something beautiful

people say you die twice
once when you stop breathing
and when someone says your name
for the last time

if you fall in love with a poet
they will never stop
mentioning your name
you will be alive
for eternity
  Apr 2018 Mary L
Mister Granger
I know why the caged bird sings.

It's not because his song
is as vibrant
as his feathers, that he plucks away
each day because he doesn't
feel beautiful.

It's not because of the majesty
that exist in the freedom
of being able to spread his wings
though he knows
he'll never rise to the occasion.

He sings because he believes
that this cage
was made for a king
because he has never tasted
freedom with a side order of skies.

He's never flown past the sun
on a cool morning
or hung with the moon
on a warm night.

He's only ever known
the comfort of a prison
that his thoughts have
become accustomed
to calling home.

He would never venture
beyond the "welcome" mat
because what's beyond the threshold
holds no promise
the way these bars and metal locks do.

He sings because he knows
that no one is listening
so if he makes a mistake
he doesn't have to live with the regret
or embarrassment of knowing that he missed his note.

The caged bird
never believes that he's caged
because behind these walls
he's safe
and he prefers it this way.

I know why the caged bird sings.
A twist on a title by one of my favorite authors...

— The End —