Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Jul 2018 · 359
The Old Lady at the Booth
Meg Howell Jul 2018
I am writing this using a pen that was oh-so-kindly gifted to me by a kind old lady. She also gave me a cookie, but that’s beside the point. I think she knows that the best way to bribe college students is through food. I’m standing at the table beside a girl who I THINK is in one of my classes, but I still am not quite certain. She is the kind of athletic and strong that screams “this is the confidence that you’ll never have”. We’re both being shown a piece of paper with a minimal amount of writing on it, but an infinite amount of pure heart. The paper says a sweet word about prayer and doing well on finals and all that, but my focus is on the excessive amount of exclamation marks at the end of each sentence. I guess Presbyterians really are the Oprah Winfreys of religion. I forgot to mention that the old lady is Presbyterian. She is advertising a fall bible study led by college students, which, if I were not plagued with the constant assumption that I’ll never know how to socialize or make friends, I would be absolutely enthralled by. The truth is that I’ve been trying to get “plugged in” for a while now, but how can I get plugged in when my wire is frayed and everything I touch seems to smoke and burn at some point? My plug is a circle and the outlet is a square, so I guess it’s like that saying, “A circle can’t fit into a round peg”, or something like that. Anyways, I didn’t mean for this to become an analogy between being disconnected and electrical outlets, but it turned out that way. The old lady at the booth was nice. I hope to someday be that lovely. Although I was around her for a total of thirty seconds, I saw what it’s like to live a life not shrouded in a black cloud of fear. So, thank you, lady.
Meg Howell Mar 2018
The grandeur and intensity I have felt recently has clouded my mind like a fog brushing the top of a mountain at dawn.
The romanticization of our shared aspirations and desperation has left me mesmerized and hypnotized like the effects of a magician performing a conjuration. Not meaning to sound as cliche or pretentious as I know this will, you are my idea of a vacation. What u mean by this is that, when I’m near you, I want to stay this way until the inevitable sands of time run out. But I can’t. I can’t because most of life is work and you are my relaxation. You are a cup of hot tea when the icicles reign supreme outside. One day, I will see you every day. Even then, I know I won’t want those days to end. But end they must. So we face the test of time, wearing infatuation and admiration as our weapons, fighting the clocks and schedules that trail so closely behind. We fight and we fight and we fight.
Mar 2018 · 547
A Dance
Meg Howell Mar 2018
Fragile hands,
Weathered and cracked,
Grasping onto the neck of the swan
They are tough,
Yet, all the while, their reach is gentle,
And they glide with the swan to the pond’s lively middle


Up they go

   Ricocheting off the dancing beads of
       doing the tango,
         the salsa,

            and, at last,

Mar 2018 · 358
Meg Howell Mar 2018
The toils of my hands,
The marks of my work,
I’m meant to find pleasure in these

Solomon’s words,
Gentle and stern,
Have genuinly provoked me
Mar 2018 · 271
A Cry
Meg Howell Mar 2018
My hands, my eyes, my heart
They’ve done me wrong in this time of need
I control these things, therefore,
I let these things control me
And now I’m desperately searching for an escape, a peace
You are the refuge
My luxury in a sea of mediocrity
And I cry out to the sky,
For my core is rotten,
I’m a dying pig swarmed with flies, choking on cotton
But with you I’m not forgotten,
I’ll never be forgotten,
Renew my broken heart
That’s all I crave
Mar 2018 · 389
Meg Howell Mar 2018
A sour cherry,
The juice of a berry,
A broken canary,
A lullaby

Snow covered trees,
The nest of honeybees,
A cat with fleas,
A scene

Hands interlocked,
Traditional love mocked,
Insecurities docked,
A dream
Mar 2018 · 341
Try to Understand
Meg Howell Mar 2018
Is this an outer-body experience
Or a pretentious subsistence
There’s a dog barking at my built-up wall
Forming a pattern of careful consistence

I’ve never broken a heart but
I’ve broken every plan I’ve chosen to mess with
I’m slowly downing this regret and distrust like it’s freshly poured absinth

The sickness comes right away, which I oddly knew to begin with
I say that I’ll change someday, but I think I’ll probably stay this way

After all, I’m happy
When the salt isn’t in my wounds
After I’ll, I’m happy
When I’m sitting here with you
Mar 2018 · 299
Meg Howell Mar 2018
Staring through a frosted window
At a girl that is paper thin
Heart on her sleeve, chained to a pen
Crimson blood poured onto paper
Forming words out of alphabet soup
She cannot decide, she cannot choose
The words form themselves
Whether she’s happy with them or not
Mar 2018 · 297
After Midnight
Meg Howell Mar 2018
A daily riddle has come to mind
Where abstract words break an abstract mind
Things once healed
Fall apart
After the moon hits the golden mark
Dilapidated eyes hear harsh lullabies
But no baby cries
No baby cries
Just you and I
Cries fit for the night
The dubious night
The doubtful night
The dangerous night
Our bittersweet night
Mar 2018 · 389
Nana’s Backyard
Meg Howell Mar 2018
I took a walk down a sloping path
Trees and brambles, nature’s bloodbath

My hands, a guide
My eyes, a map
My mouth, drooling and drawn to that amber sap

The ground below finally led me there
A trusted fort, a quiet town square
A lonely whistle serenading the unsoiled air

A symmetrical tree sat waiting like a snare
For me to take its’ paragon
But, oh, do I even dare?
Reflecting on times spent as a child adventuring through my nana’s backyard.
Meg Howell Nov 2017
The best year of my life
It all blurs together
Into a seamless, funny film
It's an old film, a heartwarming one
There's static on the screen
There's soft French jazz in the background
I'm golden
You're golden
It's all golden
This is the only way I can see the past year
It was a massive wave of change,
A wave that brought you in,
And has kept you here
This has been the best year

12:00 a.m.
Now it's over,
And you're still here.
Nov 2017 · 537
Come September
Meg Howell Nov 2017
A daily riddle
Has come to mind
Where abstract words
Break an abstract mind
And things once healed
Fall apart
After the moon hits that mark
Thoughts are runny
Dilapidated ears hear harsh lullabies
But no baby cries
Just you and I
Cries fit for the night
The dubious night
The doubtful night
The dangerous night
Our night
Nov 2017 · 353
10:59 p.m.
Meg Howell Nov 2017
When the house is quiet,
When the nighttime has come,
I am bombarded by thoughts
Of the things that I've done

A scratch on the record,
A static on VHS,
A mind bitterly thinking
About a discombobulated mess

I'm utterly happy,
Or so I believe,
Although it may not come across,
It may not be perceived

These thoughts are like alcohol
Dousing the flame
Don't come any closer
I'm already close to insane
Meg Howell Nov 2017
Is this an outer-body experience
Or a pretentious subsistence
Like a dog barking at my built up wall
Forming a pattern of cautious consistence

I've never broken a heart but
I've broken every plan I've chosen to mess with
I'm slowly downing this regret and distrust
Like it's freshly poured absinth

The sickness comes right away,
Which I oddly knew to begin with
I say that I'll change someday,
But I think I'll probably stay this way

After all, I'm happy
When the salt isn't in my wounds
After all, I'm happy
When I'm sitting here with you
Nov 2017 · 474
Meg Howell Nov 2017
Staring through a frosted window
A girl that is paper thin
Heart on her sleeve, bound to a pen
Crimson blood poured onto paper,
Her words bound to give in
Mar 2017 · 1.1k
Land of Milk & Honey
Meg Howell Mar 2017
The sunlight before a thunderstorm. How it seems to break and falter with a grayish darkness in some areas, while others hold a nostalgic, yellow light ray that seems to reflect the warmth of the past, and its' contents. This is where I find you, with your mysterious mind, sometimes contradicting your quick smiles. This is where I'll keep you, in the middle of a paradox. My golden, stormy sunlight.
Mar 2017 · 625
Circus Lights
Meg Howell Mar 2017
You were found in my ignorances

The things I chose not to see in myself,
you found in me

This contagious, spontaneous, fun house walk-through, reflecting only the compassionate parts of us two
Mar 2017 · 603
Meg Howell Mar 2017
His voice was muffled

He rang,
I answered

Each word he said came with a crackle and the loss of a letter

To me, it didn't matter that I couldn't hear every word he said

To me, he spoke so I would I understand

And I did,
even through the distortion

And every time he spoke,
he meant 'I love you'
Feb 2017 · 982
A Spike of Emotions
Meg Howell Feb 2017
Love and practicality
A ladder leading into a tumbling dryer
Dangerous and blurred

Flowers with roots to hidden caves,
Caves known as the "heart and soul,”
Which we keep hidden

A tightripe balanced over the sea,
Inescapable and thrilling
Feb 2017 · 989
Meg Howell Feb 2017
How do we summarize our lives? If we were given the choice of one word to describe the life of each person, what would yours be?
Feb 2017 · 620
Meg Howell Feb 2017
A contradiction.
An anomaly.
Representing everything I am and everything I want to be.
My passion in the afternoon, followed by my silence in the evening.
It'd take you a lifetime to understand me.
Mar 2016 · 419
Meg Howell Mar 2016
From the day I met you
it was just one large homecoming,
I was walking on clouds,
and an array of stars guided me towards you,
while a choir of angels whispered lullabies in my ears,
all on account of being near to you
Mar 2016 · 385
Meg Howell Mar 2016
I can't account for the days before,
when I was young and naive and knew little more
than to succumb to the ideologies of those around me
Then there comes a point,
where one's mind is awakened,
and choices that used to be made for you,
are now yours for the choosing,
Choose wisely,
and live life with an open heart and imaginative mind
Mar 2016 · 327
Meg Howell Mar 2016
There comes a moment,
the recognition,
that the past is but a forlorn memory,
a figment of imagination entrancing its captors over and over
we begin to look forward,
towards this alluring light,
this solid hope of a future,
thus paving the way for greatness,
forget not the longings of your past,
but use them to shape your ever-broadening future
Meg Howell Feb 2016
I remember fingers entwined
Your hands pushing back my hair
Your heart running a race against time

A dust storm in your eye that would later leave me bereft of you
A gentle thumb rub that gave me a momentary epiphany causing me to hope in you and God too

The rush
Our feet fighting the fear of missing a step
Avoiding the evident chance of falling

You led me down those narrow stairs
Where every breath of destiny seemed to be calling
And it still is
Come back to me
When the one you love more than anything is forced to leave, what more can one do than pour out every emotion through word?
Aug 2015 · 653
From Now On
Meg Howell Aug 2015
Submerged in rigorous waves,
Walking out among the decadent summer haze,
filled with peace and calm for the riveting scene in front of me,
But what do the crashing tidal waves really mean?
The world has a way of showing what we humans have done to it
Showing and telling really makes all the difference
Starting now, I will not be the one,
to take advantage of the magnificent sun,
or the bright crowded clouds,
or the misty afternoon rain,
For these are the epitome of beauty,
and technology is not,
so, I'm putting my foot down,
I'm refusing to let my mind rot
Beauty comes and goes
in mysterious ways
and some of its excellence,
is found on summer days
Aug 2015 · 934
The Costume
Meg Howell Aug 2015
I've seen it all around
It's everywhere I go,
To track, to hide, and to desperately follow,
It's the costume of the century,
Varying in look and size,
Anyone may put it on,
and gain a faux happiness in their eyes,
To die with this malicious costume is a feat like no other,
for anyone who dies in it must be a sad, lonely soul,
for the costume is a play,
catching innocent souls,
snatching them up,
with a slow and painful swallow,
and the worst part of all,
is the part you can't see,
that under this costume,
they are truly unhappy,
putting up a smile for society,
well now I'm losing faith in humanity,
throw away your costumes,
It's okay to be sad,
I won't judge you for emotions that every single heart has had
Aug 2015 · 678
To be Curious
Meg Howell Aug 2015
I've been given more clarity
with the heavy rains of life
than I have with days of
never ending sunshine,
some days I prefer the rain,
but most,
I long for the naive sunshine
Aug 2015 · 2.0k
Push and Let Go
Meg Howell Aug 2015
I sat on your swing
and I kicked up my feet
You were pushing me softly
with the wind running through my hair
You started to pick up the pace
As I began to let go of the ropes
I trusted you
And the swing broke
And I cried
You sat and watched
for a minute or two
and then asked me to swing again
It's too late for that
Im not a child anymore
and the playground isn't my friend
Jul 2015 · 880
Cloud 9 Pier
Meg Howell Jul 2015
I've lost my mind
in a sea of dreams
It's floating around with my hopes and things
The only time I can see to reach it,
is when the tide comes in,
and my creativity subsides,
If that's the cost for a normal mind,
I'd rather be mad
Jul 2015 · 1.0k
It Takes One to Know One
Meg Howell Jul 2015
One may never know sadness until they look into the eyes of someone who doesn't love them back
Just as one can't know love
without knowing pain
Or anger without realizing peace
And happiness
without a little grief
For emotions are counter active,
and surely you have to know both sides of the story before you understand it
Jul 2015 · 702
Life and Death Collide
Meg Howell Jul 2015
There's a hidden paradox between
flowers &
When loved ones die,
we place living things on their graves
to soften the loss
Irony at its finest
Jul 2015 · 1.9k
Meg Howell Jul 2015
Who am I?
Who are you?
Who are we without
words and thoughts?
Without them,
we are nothing but synonymous
creatures lacking intelligence
and possessing quite a bit of
that curiosity that killed the cat
Jul 2015 · 1.1k
Modern Fairytale
Meg Howell Jul 2015
Two hearts,
desolate and yearning,
are put through the tedious test
of finding one another,
and they do,
they live as happily ever after as they can in this broken world
Jul 2015 · 1.4k
Meg Howell Jul 2015
I've liked,
but have I truly loved?
Love is iridescent
It shows with magnificent colors,
but changes swiftly with every passerby

I don't want to be iridescent
Love is ever changing.
Jul 2015 · 1.7k
Meg Howell Jul 2015
Every day we come and go with the same bad habits hidden behind empty eyes. We litter the world with fake happiness and vandalize walls with angry shouts. When do we make the decision to be happy?
I feel this is a more pressing issue in today's society. As I've grown, I've realized how happiness deprived most adults of the world are. I believe it's time to bring the happiness of an innocent child back.
Jun 2015 · 978
Meg Howell Jun 2015
Childhood is
summer nights spent playing outside with the crickets singing their song,
catching lightning bugs,
waltzing around sillily,
watching the Saturday cartoons,
fitting ring pops on your hand,
and begging your parents to let you stay up later than normal
Adulthood is
nostalgia of all these things aforementioned
Jun 2015 · 465
My Dear Friend
Meg Howell Jun 2015
People say time isn't real
and the dream is a life without bounds,
but I know that time is real and keeps me close to the ground
He's quite the friend you ought to know
He's a bit overwhelming
He's a bit intrusive
He's a bit absurd
He's a bit abusive
But time is also quite the helper
He wakes me up in the day and let's me sleep at night
He's pristine
and precise
always on the dot
But time is real
and real is time
but then again, it may not
Sometimes it's hard to forget to look at the clock every second of every day. Sometimes we spend our whole lives worrying for the one day out of many that we die. It's important to not look at time as something to hold us back, but as a sign that life keeps moving forward and we just get to live longer on this beautiful earth God has created. What a time to be alive.
Jun 2015 · 429
Meg Howell Jun 2015
Why do I believe in an invisible God?
Why do I believe in air?
Why do I believe in love?
Although I can't see, I can feel, and that's more than enough for my simply complex mind
Jun 2015 · 2.7k
The Pathway
Meg Howell Jun 2015
Love's a prickly thorn bush in a field of sunflowers
It's bittersweet,
And boy, can it leave scars,
But in time, wounds can heal, my dear friend
I thought we were both hopelessly in "love",
while you were preying on another,
now I realize I was just hopelessly hopeless for you
And I'm much smarter than to fall for a silly boy who can't be bothered to wait until I'm ready
Don't think you can fool me again,
My heart is beating to the beat of my mind now,
which you no longer occupy,
Instead of walking through the bush of thorns,
I simply try and walk around them straight into the heart of love,
Real and true love
Jun 2015 · 276
Living Things
Meg Howell Jun 2015
I picked flowers when you left
when a part of me died
I wanted to replace it with something alive
Jun 2015 · 501
Just So You Know
Meg Howell Jun 2015
I've forgotten the taste of your genuinely untrue words
and your poetry
I can't put a finger on what it was like "being in love with you"
I don't miss you anymore
and oh,
it's so very sweet
May 2015 · 436
Meg Howell May 2015
(It's ok to be sad)                          
                 to cry sometimes
                because crying is a
               story written by our
                    eyes & told to
                       our faces
May 2015 · 530
Time and its tricks
Meg Howell May 2015
Time is as real as we make it
      out to be in our minds
        time seems to be a
           metaphor for a
             the life out
        what is time really
     you're late, you're early
  the sand is running out quickly
the clock is sneakily ticking midnight
Meg Howell May 2015
You're sitting on your grandmother's porch
Eating watermelon
Spitting out seeds
While grandpa is reading the Sunday paper
You feel a stillness, a peacefulness
to the rolling earth around you
and you understand
You'll never be in that exact moment again
The South has a way of holding your heart in a way you wouldn't know
Always wanting to leave
But when you actually do,
You miss it more than you could even miss a person
It's the stigma of home
May 2015 · 525
Spill into Darkness
Meg Howell May 2015
Darkness is a turning point
A turning point that says "no turning back"
It throws you in a well
and shoves a mask over your eyes
shakes the earth beneath your feet
till you start to believe its spiteful lies
it begins to attack
from that very moment
starting with a nibble
but then
taking over completely
one month later
you're in a jail cell of despair
wondering what the heck happened to get you there
but you remember the steps you took into darkness
what a foul enemy darkness can be
regain your life
rise from the ashes
light your own fire from within and brighten up your mournful room
darkness never wins in the end
May 2015 · 427
Almost Midnight
Meg Howell May 2015
I'm terribly
frightened to be alone
when it comes down to it
we are all alone
people pass
people come
but no one can actually ever stay
Independence is a virtue
but I want somebody to lean on
I'm frightened
of learning how to be alone
just a small dot living on a big dot with a huge mass of other dots on it
all searching for something
for something
maybe it's the same goals
maybe just maybe
but the biggest
and most true
we all wonder at some point in our life
what happens when we die
if we come,
live a short life,
and die,
There's gotta be something more
we search for eternity
I found eternity in your eyes & lost it when you left
so now I've looked for it again in God's eyes
and I believe I've found it
May 2015 · 406
Meg Howell May 2015
Goodbyes are the epicenter of heartbreak,
Everything stemming from love & hate leads to those dreaded endings,
Their sneak attacks,
And foreshadowed arrivals,
Make them all the more horrific
But the worst of all
Is when one leaves
saying goodbye,
and you're left with a hole in the story,
a missing piece that isn't satisfied with new hellos & old letters,
They say the past shouldn't be repeated,
But I want more than anything to go back & finish off what was begun
I can't compare love & the past because, silly enough,
people tend to leave the things they love most behind,
so with that being said,
May 2015 · 648
Adding Up
Meg Howell May 2015
It doesn't make sense
You left me entangled in your lies
Without a goodbye
Only a "let's be friends"
As you jumped right in the dating pool with another girl
But somehow
No matter how much you hurt me
Part of you is kept in my soul
And part of me still wants you to come back
May 2015 · 1.4k
Meg Howell May 2015
How dreadfully awful of you
To play with a woman's emotions
Mixing in happiness and feelings of love
Then drowning her in heartbreak and sadness
Keep your concoctions far from me from now on
Next page