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Penelope Winter Jul 2017
For if I told you that I love you
Anywhere but my poetry
It would give you the power
To walk away.
So for now I will write
'Til the pen falls from my hand.
Never not loving you
And never not denying it.

- p. winter
Penelope Winter May 2017
It took sixteen years to become acquainted with my old self.

The self that:

Could not write on crumpled papers,
Or sleep in untucked sheets,
Played her scales robotically,
Left no word incomplete.
Labelled all the cupboards,
Books were organized by name,
This was the life I led.
I never knew that it would change.

it took 4 weeks to fall in love with my new self


writes on ollld receipts,
   kicks the covers        off the bed
     ~lets my fingers play freely~
         not every sentence has an en-
            stores shoes with coffee mugs!!
               writes in mArGiNs to save time
                  not all rules need to be   f o l l o w e d
                    not all poems need to

                        sound the same

who knew that little pill
would teach me how to live
not erase the 'me' that showed
but bring out the 'me' that hid
16 years of worry
of obsessive, anxious thoughts
who knew that little pill
would change me
for one,
did not

- p. winter
1.7k · Jul 2017
magic (haiku)
Penelope Winter Jul 2017
it must be magic
how you take my darkness and
turn it into fire

- p. winter
Penelope Winter Jul 2017
"... had an early lunch."
"... already ate... not hungry."
My daily white lies.

One hundred pounds. Most
Teenage girls' dream size, but the
Weight of my nightmares.

"... eating disorder..."
The last words I hear before
My head hits the ground.

I don't even feel
it anymore. My body
Got used to starving.

A penny for each
Meal I've thrown out could buy me
Another water.

Work out until your
Size is small as your daily
Calorie intake.

"You're far too skinny"
They don't see the fat girl that
Lives in my mirror.

- p. winter
1.3k · Apr 2017
the gentleman
Penelope Winter Apr 2017
he walks at my pace
lets me think I won
keeps his mouth shut
till my stories are done

holds open the doors
calls, doesn't text
makes sure that I'm healthy
getting plenty rest

buys me a coffee
instead of a shot
remembers the details
I was sure he'd forgot

he’s old school, classy
his intentions are good
and he treats me like only
a gentleman would

- p. winter
quick little poem about someone
1.3k · Jul 2017
The Man Who Loved Blue
Penelope Winter Jul 2017
The man who loved blue
Was a joyful soul
With eyes of diamond
And heart of gold.
His voice was breeze
In summer's air
With songs to sing
And stories to share.
His house of blue
Was easy to find,
So bright you could see it
Even if you were blind.
And all would come round
For a blue cup of tea
With biscuits that came
In blue packets of three.
They'd hear his advice,
For he had lots to give,
And all the adventures
Through which he had lived.
He laughed of his youth,
The days climbing trees
That he spent with his siblings
At age of thirteen.
Since then his face wrinkled,
His hair had turned grey,
But his life-loving soul
Didn't age a day.
And when the time came
That his house lost hue,
We never forgot
The man who loved blue.
My opa's favourite colour is blue...
1.3k · May 2017
the gentleman: an update
Penelope Winter May 2017
you may have read a poem
of a gentleman i met
and i bet that you're all wondering
it anything's happened yet
now, i'll only say this once
so listen while you can
i just wasn't enough of a lady
to satisfy the gentleman

- p. winter
a followup to my previous poem "the gentleman"
1.2k · Aug 2017
Fine ('Polite Lies' part 1)
Penelope Winter Aug 2017
the streets are filled with lies
of "how are you?" "oh, i'm fine!"s
strangers smile away all of
the battles that they hide
nobody's fine
nobody's great
it's not polite to articulate
the struggles that you're going through
but that's fine
how are you?

- p. winter
1.2k · May 2017
baggage (haiku)
Penelope Winter May 2017
i come with baggage
more than i can hold, i pray
that you are stronger

- p. winter
1.1k · Aug 2017
Only Child (haiku)
Penelope Winter Aug 2017
I hear my brothers
Laughing in the nursery.
I'm an only child.

- p. winter
1.1k · May 2017
those in love
Penelope Winter May 2017
those who say it's a beautiful feeling
to fall in love
have always been loved
in return

- p. winter
Penelope Winter Apr 2017
I replay it in my head

L osing our temper
O verthinking
V iolent words
E xaggerations

Y ou walked
O ut the door
U ncivilly

S till, I wait
T omorrow you might come back
I leave the door unlocked
L isten to our song
L et it play over and over again

I pour another glass

A llowing myself to
L ose my mind
W ondering
A pologizing to myself
Y our voice in my ears
S uffocating my thoughts

W ould it have ended differently
I f I had let you win
L et go of my pride
L ooks like we'll never know

- p. winter
i ******* up
953 · Jul 2017
Refuge in Poetry
Penelope Winter Jul 2017
Throughout history,

Hearts have been broken,
Children have died,
Tears have been shed
By widows who cried,
Wars have been fought,
Homes have been burned,
Errors repeated
From lessons unlearned,
Good have been murdered,
Bad given freedom,
Rich throw to waste
What the poor yearn to feed on.
Few have found refuge;
Re-learned how to smile.


The poets who sat down
And wrote for a while.

- p. winter
940 · May 2017
the golden harp
Penelope Winter May 2017
it's the gentleness
in her voice
that takes me back
to lullabies
of the golden harp

the strings plucked
like her vocal cords
sing soft chords
of grace

the curved physique
of her body
fits the mold
of an angel

rounded shoulders
provide comfort
where the teary
come to rest

and when she sings
i see my childhood
i feel the pillow
'neath my head

when she sings
i hear her sacrifice
and feel the wings
of her prayers

when she sings
i swear the melody
gives life
to wintered tulips

mother of mine
your love
it is the beauty
of the golden harp

- p. winter
happy mothers day to my ex harpist
912 · Aug 2017
Penelope Winter Aug 2017
Would I e'er compare thee to an autumn's eve
With forests of fiery hues?
Or to a winter's birth
As shards of angels' wings so slowly fall?
Or to a spring's breath
That blossoms all that lives and breathes?
Or to a summer's sun-kissed daydream
Dreamt in fields of grasses tall?
It appears thou art so full of life
There beeth not a reason,
To compare thy being or thy love
To any living season.
Autumn rests in thine auburn hair,
Winter chills thy cheeks so fair,
Spring awakens in thy laughter,
And summer sunlight with thine eyes doth share.
I would not compare thee to any day
Or any time of year,
For all my days are lovely
An I have my love near.

- p. winter
871 · Apr 2017
Penelope Winter Apr 2017
I met you around the time Zac and I were to be engaged.
It was an arranged marriage,
But he promised me a lifetime of happiness.
They told me some loving would benefit my health.
That he could make me smile again.
So I stuck with him.
Every night.
You and I would meet behind his back.
He wasn't the only one who made me happy.
There was something about you
That made me forget about him.
Almost as if
I didn't need him anymore.
But they said I was commited to this relationship.

They told me Zac would work his magic 3-4 weeks after our first date.
And he did.
I smiled.
I forgot.
I relaxed.
I let go.
It was nice to be happy again.
Everyone around me saw it.
But then it was time to take it up a notch.
I was told to love him in the mornings and evenings,
Twice a day.
Then three times.
Then four.
Until I forgot what it was like to be single.
They didn't know I snuck out to be with you.

Eventually I was a whole new person.
I didn't worry about matched socks.
I didn't cry over spilled secrets.
I didn't retreat when the going got tough.
I learned to laugh at myself
Listen to myself
Love myself
Be myself.
The quiet world of whites and greys began to
Into fireworks of vibrant colours.
I picked flowers!
I made music!
I flew kites!
The old me
From memory.

I was happy.
I am happy.

They said my life would never be the same.
That Zac had seeped into my brain
And taught me to see the beauty in life.
To find the rainbows in the rain.
They congratulated us on our marriage.
The couple of the century.
But, you see, I met you around the time Zac and I were to be engaged.
Maybe it was a coincidence.
Maybe it was the timing.
Maybe it was fate.
But I had broken up with Zac a month after he proposed.
I never met him twice a day.
Or three times.
Or four.
All this time
He wasn't the one
Who had taught me
To be happy.

- p. winter
840 · Jul 2017
Haiku Fever (haiku)
Penelope Winter Jul 2017
I can't stop writing
These little, three line poems.
It's haiku fever.

- p. winter
They're addicting
681 · Jun 2017
A Thousand Words
Penelope Winter Jun 2017
I have a picture of you saved,
For no eyes but my own,
That I take out of my drawer
Every day when I come home.

I pretend you're here in front of me,
As your body remains statuous,
And cry into the picture
As my grief for you grows fatuous.

For though your captured smile is still
I hear your loving laugh.
That joy can't even be contained
Inside this photograph.

And though your captured skin is still
I feel your heat reach mine,
Radiating through the frame,
Its mem'ries stopping time.

And though your captured eyes are still
The beauty of your gaze is just
Too much for this poor photo
To be able to contain.

They say a thousand words
A single picture can confess.
But your frozen lips say nothing
As the sun sets in the west.

In your melancholic silence
I place the picture in the drawer.
Tomorrow I'll take it out again
And grieve your love once more.

- p. winter
675 · Jul 2017
Loving Someone Sad
Penelope Winter Jul 2017
Everyone gets sad every now and then; gloomy, down in the dumps. But like rainbow after storm we find the light again and move on from our sadness, allowing ourselves to live beautifully and colourfully.

For some, this does not apply. There is no rainbow after the storm for their storm never ends. It's a thickness that dwells deeper than bone marrow, a sadness attached to the core of their chests. A longing for a relief that will never be granted. This sadness is deadly.

So how does one love those who refuse to be loved? How do you look them in their clouded eyes and tell them they mean the world to you? How do you watch them hate everything about themselves and have no way of showing them how perfect they are in your eyes? How do you make it stop?

You can't, it's not that simple. This sadness is not a light switch that can be flicked on and off. You'll never fully save them from it (this will hurt you almost as much as them), but you can try to make it easier.

Listen to what they have to say, don't force them to be like you,
Love them for whate'er they are, their coping mechanisms too.
Hold them closely to your chest and always let go last,
Teach them to live in the moment instead of dwelling on the past.

There is no perfect way to love someone who doesn't love themselves.  There will always be down days, relapses, set backs, but none are intentional. Do not be angry with the one you love for not being able to leave the house for a day. Do not scold them for crying over spilled milk - literally. Do not make them feel like this uncontrollable sadness is entirely their fault - if you do this, you are not worthy of their love to begin with.

Loving someone sad is never easy, it can take some work, but you must remember how much work it takes for them to accept the love that they believe
They are not worthy of.

in joys and in sorrows,
through pains and well-beings,
my happiness will be yours,
and your sadness mine

- p. winter
660 · May 2017
Penelope Winter May 2017
And oh, how sweet, the words you speak, they taste.
How soft they blow, how sure they flow; no haste.
An old eclipse, how slow, your lips -- they part.
So young, naive, quickly deceived, my heart.
How warm, your eyes, they hypnotize my soul.
And how I miss the touch, the kiss, you stole.
So sure was I that you'd be my first love.
But love's a thing we know nothing thereof.
Foolish of me to fall so deeply in.
How long I thought your smile was not a sin.
And oh, how used, how scared, confused, my trust.
Feelings so shy, that you deny, 'tween us.
How ruefully, our memories, they fade.
How bittersweet our love; like lemonade.

- p. winter
my first attempt at iambic pentameter...
631 · Feb 2018
Worth the Wait (haiku)
Penelope Winter Feb 2018
For now it’s torture
But one day I’ll get to say
You were worth the wait

- p. winter
581 · Jun 2017
Penelope Winter Jun 2017
Some people are afraid of spiders
Because they've felt fangs in their skin and the venom in their veins.
And they say the way to cure it
Is to caress the eight gentle legs and learn to trust the eight gentle eyes.
Some people fear the sea
Because they've felt the air leave their lungs, believing it'll never come back.
And they say the way to cure it
Is to let one's body be embraced by the tide and embrace the love of its waves in return.
Some people fear the dark
Because they know what hides within the absence of light and they've heard what goes bump in the night.
And they say the way to cure it
Is to turn off all the lights and touch the shadows. Finding the beauty in the ignorance of what happens around them.
But you, brave soul,
Do not suffer from arachnophobia, aquaphobia or nyctophobia.
Only one terror controls your life, daring you to face it.
For you, my friend
Fear love.
Because you have been broken
Time and time again
By those who said they loved you.
And the only way to cure it
Is to fall so deeply
That you forget the spider bites, the rising tide, and to turn on the light at night.
But mostly you will forget all those that hurt you.
And your heart
Will be free
To love

- p. winter
554 · Apr 2017
no good
Penelope Winter Apr 2017
  ­       bye


- p. winter
493 · May 2017
in the kitchen
Penelope Winter May 2017
he grabbed her by the hand
as the water started boilin
then he got down on one knee
as the milk jug sat there spoilin
put a flower in 'er hair
as the timer started ringin
pulled a ring outta his pocket
as the kettle started singin
she prepared to give her answer
as the fridge was hummin loudly
wiped the sweat off her fourth finger
as the oven burned so proudly
but then he got back on his feet
as the tap water was runnin
said he had changed his mind
as the bread dough sat there roughenin
her heart broke in her chest
as her hand reached for the cleaver
his face was unimpressed
as he turned around to leave 'er
the tears fell down her cheeks
as her irises turned black
and she whispered to herself
as the knife flew in his back
"now you know how i feel"
as he gasped a final breath
then she swung back to her cookin
as he slipped into his death
her heartbreak made her crazy
as the blood spread 'cross the floor
and that's why no one's in the kitchen
with dinah anymore

- p. winter
what happens when you get someone's hopes up
477 · Dec 2017
Penelope Winter Dec 2017
i've been too stressed to write
i forgot that writing takes
the stress away

- p. winter
475 · Aug 2017
Worthy Of Love
Penelope Winter Aug 2017
She said in raspy voice: "I don't deserve the way you look at me, the words you whisper, the strength of your embrace. I have done nothing good enough to be worthy of your time."

And he replied: "There are few more worthy of love than those who believe they are not. My dear, you deserve no less than the world."

So she: "You are my world."

So he: "Then we are worthy."

- p. winter
473 · Sep 2017
I Used to Write
Penelope Winter Sep 2017
I used to write a lot of poems online.
They'd trend, attract followers, etc.
I thought I'd publish a book one day,
People seemed to like reading my stuff.
But, eventually, as most fame does,
my 15 minutes wore off.
I started getting less likes,
Less comments,
Less recognition for my work.
And I guess it made sense
Because I wasn't writing as much
Or spending as much time editing.
So I read through my old poems
To see if I just got worse
Or if there was some underlying reason
For my loss of popularity.
And soon, I began to realize
The only poems I wrote
Were ones of heartbreaks and sadnesses;
Poems of woes and loneliness.
So I wondered to myself
"What changed?"
And saw that I wasn't writing as much
Because I wasn't as sad as I was
When my peotry flowed more smoothly.
I didn't need writing as an outlet
To cope with my pain.
It's not that my life got much better,
(It didn't at all)
But I was learning to continuously find things
To be happy about;
And less to write my
Depressing monologues about.
I had begun to move on with my life
And teach myself that bad days are unavoidable,
It's how we react to them
That determines how we feel.
I used to write a lot of poetry.
But now,
I live it.

- p. winter
469 · Sep 2017
the breeze
Penelope Winter Sep 2017
she was gentle
her presence was felt
but in the blink of an eye
she could vanish
with the wild wind in her hair
and in the absence
of her free spirit
all was eerily still

- p. winter
463 · Jan 2018
Penelope Winter Jan 2018
what a pleasure
an honour
a dream come true
to live in a world
in a time
that holds you

- p. winter
448 · Jul 6
Perhaps the most
Difficult challenge
I've had to face
Is trying to believe
I could ever be
Remotely worthy
Of your love.

- p. winter
444 · Apr 2017
Penelope Winter Apr 2017
No apparent cause
No apparent reason.
Tears streaming down her face like flowing rivers holding all her secrets.
Music blasting to cover the sound of her pounding heart and chilling screams.
Fingers running through her hair as she grimaces at this mask she wears
With a beaming smile and rosy cheeks that yell "I'M DOING FINE!"
Because the louder she shouts it the more she believes it herself.
It's inexplicable
Why she feels this way.
Looking for a way out of her own thoughts she runs into memories she thought she forgot.  
Her parents screaming about how to pay bills as their daughter watches with shivers running down her spine.
Friends luring her into a world she vowed not to join with their bottles glistening in the light and the smoke surrounding them clouding her judgement.
Yet it's inexplicable
How she dealt with the voices in her head and the endless possibilities of how to escape them but there was always that one catch.
She hung on for dear life to the rope that would take her dear life.
But she was running out of reasons why her dear life would not be a reasonable sacrifice.
She put up with herself for so long and now, as she crumbles onto the ground, she finds every feeling gushing out of her.
Every night she had spent hugging her pillow.
Every dream she had dreamt that didn't work out.
Every friend she had found that thought she wasn't enough.
Every promise she was given that in the end it would be okay.
For so long she told everyone that she was strong.
She could handle it, she could push through.
But there comes a point where even the strongest ones break.
And when she broke, she thought she'd never be put back together.
For the remaining shattered shards of her heart were jigsaw pieces and no one had the time to sit down and glue them tight.
It's inexplicable
Why this sadness dominates even the happiest of moments.
The realization that nobody can fall in love with someone so broken and hopeless sinks in.
And she sinks to the floor
With her inexplicable sadness.

- p. winter
443 · Oct 2018
Thoughts of a Falling Angel
Penelope Winter Oct 2018
Pull the trigger, kick the stool.
The world doesn’t mourn every feather-winged fool.
Close your eyes, whisper your goodbyes.
The world doesn’t cry for each angel that dies.

- p. winter
429 · Apr 2017
Penelope Winter Apr 2017
You're a bittersweet taste in my mouth.
Your sour heart is unsettling on my tongue
But I lick my lips.
You excite me.
You're addictive.

You're the black density that envelops me.
I sink deeper into your warm embrace.
The scream for help never leaving my lungs.
You entrance me.
You're hypnotic.

I know that you're no good for me.
But I mistake your sweet words for honey.
Thick in the air but I can't get enough.
You speak slowly.
It's seductive.

But when I stop caressng you
I feel myself letting you
Slip through my fingers.
Part of me is glad you will be gone
But the memories left behind stick to my skin.
I ignore them

You say I won't live without you.
You say you're as natural as water.
But in reality
You are

- p. winter
417 · Oct 2017
Beauty is Pain (haiku)
Penelope Winter Oct 2017
I know that it hurts
But darling, beauty is pain.
Now, back to the scale...

- p. winter
403 · Sep 2018
He Didn't Love Me
Penelope Winter Sep 2018
He didn't love me.
He loved the way I danced to our favourite songs.
He didn't love me.
He loved the curious way I admired simple fish in the pond.
He didn't love me.
He loved the way I frowned when I knew I was wrong.
He didn't love me.
He couldn't have.
Because that would make me a monster.
To see his hopeful heart
And leave him nonetheless.
He didn't love me.
He didn't love me.
Dear God
Please tell me
He didn't love me.

- p. winter
384 · Apr 2017
Penelope Winter Apr 2017
She was a rest in a bar full of staccatos.
She was the note played pianissimo and the key that didn’t sing.
She had no forte in her soul, her steps were slurring phrases.
This girl was the music of a broken string.
Hers were the fingers stiff and cold; and the lip plate never kissed.
A metronome of self-doubt always ticking in her ears.
Never allowed a change in tempo, never shown to spread her wings.
Singing lessons from the deaf for 15 years.

The other was a pickup note, anxious to play the tune.
The dancer skipping steps up ledger lines.
The crescendo of passion, the diminuendo of a lullaby,
This girl no blaring trumpet could outshine.
But though her eyes were made of stardust her heart pulsed slowly, portato.
No accompanist, no duet, no conductor to keep the beat.
Her cheeks stung from the disguise, her worry slowed her, legato.
Compensating for loneliness with quick tempo deceit.

But, like broken triads, fate had it the two would somehow fit.
Drawn together as tied notes, destined to play their piece.
One so controlled by the orchestra, the other yearning for a duet.
The enchanting harmony within them had always burned to be released.
They played as one instrument, arpeggios overlapping in a heavenly key.
Swinging in synchronization, the melody swam magically through the night.
No longer controlled by metronomes, no longer stuck singing solo,
Forever, together, their own sheet music they would write.

- p. winter
~ for the one who was never shown to spread her wings, and who taught me what a friend is ~
378 · Aug 2017
Penelope Winter Aug 2017
The name itself is but euphony.
The woman is
No different.
With ringlets wild,
Faith of child,
Fingers delicate,
Eyes wise,
Her blushēd cheeks
Are watercoloured
Sunrise waking
Winter skies.
There is music in her laughter.
A new note struck
With every opening of her
Pillowed lips.
In times of sorrow,
Speak her name.
Find healing in loving

- p. winter
a poem for a friend :)
376 · Jul 2017
Not So Innocent
Penelope Winter Jul 2017
You see me under daylight bright,
A little girl in nightgown white
With stains of red all down my spine
From poppy field naps in warm sunshine.

But, as the moon begins to rise,
The night shows who I am inside:
A bride who died in wedding bed
From stab that stained her white back red...
Just because someone looks like their life is perfect, doesn't mean they've never been hurt or gone through anything before.
374 · May 2017
mutual confusion
Penelope Winter May 2017
why we do this to ourselves
remains a mystery
our conversations all wear
the same clean livery
the words fall into line
as if they've been rehearsed
it's like we're both too scared to improvise
it's a curse
why is either too afraid
to be the first to speak a phrase
overwhelmed with what the other
could think or do or say
why do we look into
each other's eyes
and tell ourselves
the same old lies
that this feeling
will one day
go away

- p. winter
357 · Jul 2017
Penelope Winter Jul 2017
Some people are like pistols
Pointed straight at your heart.
The tighter you squeeze them
The more certain your death.
Only when you let them go
Can you truly
Be free.

- p. winter
Penelope Winter Jan 2018
A rocking chair sits
On a porch
On a house
On the corner of ol’ Honey Lane.
It looks over fields of lavender stems
And rocks with the wind and the rain.
I grew up walking past it,
On ol’ Honey Lane,
And would sometimes drop by for a swing.
I brought books and some snacks,
Played with dollies and jacks,
This poor rocker withstood everything.
I grew a bit older but kept coming back
To my rocker on ol’ Honey Lane.
I’d bring it my sorrows and rock til the morrow,
Forgetting my worries and pain.
The gentle caressing of lavender lullabies
Scattered the clouds of grey.
And whene’er I was lonely, I knew that only
My rocker could brighten my day.
Still older I grew and soon began dreaming
Of cities more couth and refined.
So I hopped on a plane, fled my ol' Honey Lane
And left my poor rocker behind.
I traded my jeans for a dazzling dress,
And dollies for wine and pearls.
But nothing within could dare to trade in

The mem’ry of that young, little girl.
The girl who spent hours watching lavender fields,
On the corner of ol’ Honey Lane.
I knew without haste, there was no time to waste,
I had to go find her again.
So back home I flew, to see family and friends,
To smell lavender waft through the air.
I ran to the porch of the old corner house,
And saw my dear old rocking chair.
I hopped on it’s seat, kicked my feet off the ground,
And remembered the wind and the rain.
As the sun went to sleep in the lavender fields,
So I slept on my rocker
On ol’ Honey Lane.

- p. winter
347 · Aug 2017
Explosive Freedom
Penelope Winter Aug 2017
I am a bird
With wings to carry me to faraway places
And a song to share with the world.
But my foot is caught
In the pin of a grenade.
And I know
That if I try to fly
My freedom will only result
In the death of all my

- p. winter
343 · Jun 2018
Penelope Winter Jun 2018
Summer, take the rain away.
Summer, take the pain away.
Winter froze my flowering heart,
Teach it how to bloom today.

- p. winter
341 · Jul 2017
A Poet's Apology
Penelope Winter Jul 2017
I apologize in advance,
For none of my love songs will have melodies.

I will laugh in euphony and cry in cacophany, I will bleed with every typo and breathe with every verse. I will think in metaphors and speak in rhyme.

I will tell you I love you
Not by using those three words
But by writing my own; pages at a time.

I will compare your eyes to lighthouses in the mist
And your laughter to a lark's opera.
You won't just hear me say "you're beautiful" (though you are), but go on for chapters about every little freckle.

You won't understand why I think so dramatically. Or why I take so long to choose my words (because I always know I can find better ones). You will become angry when I sit down and write because I just can't say what I want to with my voice.

But, most of all, I apologize for the way your face will fall when you read my poems and discover who I am. You will awe at how I can hide so much in those little notebooks. You will hear stories about me that will never escape my lips. You will tremble at the exhausted self that remains after I pour all that I am into the pen strokes on the paper.

For these things, I am sorry.
So please excuse me for being a poet.
And please excuse yourself for loving one.

- p. winter
340 · May 2017
Penelope Winter May 2017
Close to

All but
More or less
For all intents
and purposes

Pretty much
Not far from
As good as such

You could have
Should have
Would have
But you didn't quite
Love me

- p. winter
338 · Apr 2017
to be or not to be
Penelope Winter Apr 2017
They ask me what I want to be when I grow up.
I whisper
"I don't".

- p. winter
331 · Aug 2017
Cabin Verse
Penelope Winter Aug 2017
A lonely loon cry echoes through the morning mist as it crouches over the lake.
The trees rustle quietly as the breeze performs its awakening dance through the branches.
Each icy breath leaves a temporary imprint in the brisk air, before fading away into the forest fog.
And though I'm free from all distractions,
In the stillness of the woods,
I think of you.

- p. winter
A week in a camp in the middle of nowhere
329 · Jul 2017
Love/Hate Relationship
Penelope Winter Jul 2017
There's a lesson to be learned
In crying at 3:00 am
Missing the one
You never got along with.
i miss you dad...
326 · Jul 2017
Smiling Through Sadness
Penelope Winter Jul 2017
Few can do as you
And smile though meanwhile
The world has got you curled
As you weep yourself to sleep.
You say that you're not brave,
You swear that you don't care,
But in your eyes I see the child
Who still fights through every night.

- p. winter
Playing with assonance...? Meh
326 · Jul 2017
Migraine (haiku)
Penelope Winter Jul 2017
I feel my skull shrink.
Mental voices scream as the
Walls slowly compress.

- p. winter
I have a migraine and it's killing meeeeee
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