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

when you feel the watermelon juice
skiing down your chin
when you hear the hum of the lawnmower
singing its backyard ballad
when you smell the smoke of the bonfire
seeping slowly into your skin
you will know
you will sense
that summer
has arrived

- p. winter

As fawns become stags
And leaves, fallen gold,
As lakes freeze to rinks
So our hearts turn to stone

For our love has left us
With geese in the sky
But we'll remember September
'Til the day we die.

- p. winter

S oaring over cotton clouds, so close you can feel them
E levation rising, even the peaceful feel butterflies
V ery little leg room, time to pace the aisles
E astward we fly, the Atlantic waves wave from below
N othing compares to watching the Sun rise from a front row seat in heaven

H ow magical, and powerful, to glide with the wings of an industrial bluebird
O ver mountains and skylines, even skyscrapers become building blocks, leaving nothing left to be awed
U ltraviolet rays weave by on their way to scorch soft skins
R estless temper tantrums of rebellious winds cause turbulence

F lying with my head in the clouds
L iterally
I think of how many miles each passing minute puts between us
G ently but surely this machine pulls me away from your embrace
H ow long these next few weeks will last
T il I see you, back home, again

- p. winter

Too many times
I've watched you
From the shadows,
Trying to forget
That I no longer
Can join you
In the sunshine.

- p. winter

Feeling is weakness
And loving is pain:
A lesson I’ve learned
Again and again.

You’re gonna get shot
If you sit like a duck,
So put up your walls, baby,
Don’t give a ****.

- p. winter

I wear long sleeves so that my scars
Don't make anyone uncomfortable
Because heaven forbid
Someone should know
I was ever less than happy.

- p. winter

I fear nothing more
Than feeling my love start to
Slip 'tween your fingers.

- p. winter

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

They sewed my lips together
And told me I sang beautifully.
But when I tore out the stitches
They said my voice
Was background noise.

- p. winter

The strength is not my own
That saves me from surrendering at war.

I wake too soon from dreaming
My fragile armour shatters on the floor.

The calling of temptation
I’ve battled with a hundred times before.

The strength is not my own
That loves you just enough to close the door.

- p. winter

Time and time again,
I let the laces unravel.
Sutures over a scar
Beginning to fade.
My heart, at last, starts to open,
And then, inevitably...
The laces snap,
The scar bleeds,
And I have to heal again.

- p. winter

An ever curious vine
Whose tendrils intertwine
Is naught compared to
How your body
Tangles into mine.

- p. winter

tell me how to bottle up a sound.

would I wear it as perfume,
let the world know I am doused in poetry, and dissonance, and coffee grinds?
or would I dare risk it wafting into the stale, unworthy air?
perhaps I’d wear it ‘round my neck,
never to open and relive the wonder,
only to hold close against my soul,
to feel its magic seep into my skin,
a home to return to
when doubts creep in through my ribs.

tell me how to keep it with me
forever.

- p. winter

The pain-dissolving peacefulness
Reflected in his spoken word,
Ensures his voice could cure me still
If only for a moment heard.

The second is his gentle touch,
Consuming all my thoughts,
That has me plucking daisy petals
Skipping all “he loves me not”s.

The third is naught but gleeful,
For I love the way he laughs.
Each day I’d make a fool of me
To hear his joy in half.

He smiles, oh heart, be still, he smiles
And so the heavens dim,
To allow the glorious glowing
And the radiance of him.

His handsome soul is ageless,
Though the moon, alas, revolves.
I pray that I grow old to see
However it evolves.

Relentless in his courage,
I will never fear to be
‘Tween the arms of such
A strong and firm protector as is he.

Unceasing is the passion
And ne’er ending is the heat
In the conversations had between
The lips that itch to meet.

Giving, giving, giving
Never asking in return.
No contest for how warm his fire
So generously burns.

And oh, how calm, how safe it is
To feel his arms entwine

Over each and every pathway
In the crevices of mine.

At last, the most admirable,

The truest since the start,
For what I love the most is this:
He loves with all his heart.

- p. winter

she was gentle
refreshing
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

I’m in your worn out sweaters
And tear stained letters,
All the dark sides of the moon.
In the leaves of fall
You can hear me call
On a breezy afternoon.
I’m the taste of honey,
But someday, honey,
You’ll be tasting someone new.
And I hope you tell „oh
The girl in yellow
Let me go
And grow
And feel the west wind blow
And somehow it led me to you.“

- p. winter

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

Glide through a glen with me,
Made of my memories:
Painful portrayals of
Personal effigies
Drowning in dread, and the
Dreams that will ever be
Ripping through every reverie.

Soar through a sky with me,
Clouded by cries of re-
gretfully festering
Feelings inside of me,
Longing for love and a
Lover of piety,
Someone who someday won't lie to me.

Walk down a way with me
Desperate for deity,
Scouring for someone to
Save me from slavery,
Hanging for hopefulness,
Hardened by hate and the
Fear of freedom as a rarity.

Take every turn with me,
Listen and learn from me
Buckling under the
Breaking and burdening,
Trying to cherish a
Childish eternity,
Praying for pref'rence in purgat'ry.

- p. winter

The last time that you held me
I could feel the ticking time.
Now I’ll only have the memories
In melodies and rhyme.
The last time that you kissed me,
A tear dripped from my eye
For the ever fleeting moments
Leading up to our goodbye.

- p. winter

I swore to move on,
But chagrined I must tell
I still sleep on the grounds
Where you shadow once fell.

- p. winter

The loving thing to do
Is take your heart and mine
In separate hands
To gently break together.

But if I wait and dare pretend
The ending is not written
Then our hearts, each on their own,
Will only shatter.

- p. winter

My father was “always there”, but only as an executive. And only when necessary.
He was not one to show up in the audience,
Or to make plans we could bond over,
Or to reach out when we were apart.
My father always “cared for me”, but only silently. And only as much as necessary.
He was not one to be vulnerable,
Or to ask for support,
Or to give it.
My relationship with my father was built on assumption and disappointment.
I assumed he cared for me to some extent, as a father should,
He assumed that I assumed as much, as a desperate daughter would.
We disappointed each other and called it relationship.
And that became the skeleton of what I learned love to be.

I chase my father in every man I choose.
I find him in their failures
To show up,
To reach out,
To apologize,
To try,
To not leave me to assumption,
And I fight to earn their affection,
Hoping to find his along the way.

I choose the men reluctant to love me,
Because their indifference feels like home.

- p. winter

I let the wind-churned surface gently raise me up
And set me down again.
If I am travelling at all I am unaware of it
For I look around and seem to be
In the middle of the same sea as yesterday.
I swim in protest of sinking but every once in a while I go still
Just to let my head fall under for a bit.
The water in its mercy keeps me afloat,
But the winds pick up
And my ankles grow heavy.
The ocean floor looks so peaceful in my mind.

I let myself dream of an anchor
Guiding me to the creatures below.
They welcome me with their faint glow
But I am blind here, accustomed to the sun.
The salt tastes different.
My lips do not complain.
Already I feel a burning in my chest,
Still the anchor continues at a steady pace,
Further from the wind and the waves.
I fight to keep the little air I have left
And begin to wonder:
If I were to drown on the journey down
Would my body float
To the surface again?
Or would the depths claim me,
The anchor tightening its grip,
Ever sinking…
Ever sinking…
Ever sinking…
Ever…

The cry of a gull wakes me.
I come to and inhale the familiar taste of ocean air.
For a moment, the waves are still and I float in silence.
But I look around and seem to be
In the middle of the same sea as yesterday.
And soon the winds will pick up
And my ankles will grow heavy.
The ocean floor looks so peaceful in my mind.

- p. winter

To a fault I am wary
But if you could carry my eyes
You’d see life is deceptive
And so deeply buried in lies

Of happiness being
A destination to find
When I know it’s the memory
Of feeling your heart beat to mine.

Do the angels get tired of
Hearing your name find its way
Into every request they receive
When I kneel down to pray?

Will heaven remember
The sacrifice made on the day
You let go of my hand
And I watched as your car drove away?

It’s that time of the day when my eyes
Come to life in the light,
But without you to see it
They fade with the dark of the night.

Am I weak for how strongly
I long to turn wrong into right?
Does it hurt more to forfeit
Or watch ourselves die in the fight?

In the midst of the pain I’ll try
Not to lose sight of the fun,
But ignoring what’s true would be
Laughing while loading the gun.

For the knots that we tied with our hearts
Won’t be easily undone
And I’ll cry as I pick them apart
Wishing you’d been the one.

- p. winter

and oh
how it will hurt
to fall in love
from the towering height
of your innocent
expectations

- p. winter

come here
can i take this off
**** you look good
is this ok
good
i like doing this to you
i could do this all day

hey google
cancel my alarm

- p. winter

A rocking chair sits
On the porch
Of 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

his hand so softly stroking my hair
snaking along my neck
pressing in the valley
‘tween my shoulder blades
down
down
down my spine
circling each vertebra

he carves my curves out from stone
hips and thighs and flesh and bone
his thumb traces the profile
of the ***** of my nose
and the smirk of my lips
trailing down my sternum
the outlines of my ribs
and stomach
all the round and all the sharp

the dimples
the freckles
the scars
all finishing touches
touches
o’er my body of clay
‘cross my skin of paint
covered in his fingerprints
humming as he works

and i take whatever form he asks of me

- p. winter

Her kiss upon your cheek is but a petal in the wind,
And should you rid the feeling of it brushing ‘gainst your skin,
Do pray you ne’er forget it, lest one evening you begin
To miss that love so tender, for to hers is none akin.

- p. winter

Darling, it's a storm out there.
The winds howl like lonely wolves in moonlight.
Their throaty cries echo through this empty cage of a town.
The shutters shudder in the eerie fog
Creaking as they hang to the windows by a single *****.
In movies there would be dramatic music
But in this weather
The only sounds are the cracks of trees losing limbs
And individual rain drops attacking every surface with the united force
Of the pacific ocean.
It's a deafening silence.

Darling, you're not ready to face it.
You think you've experienced it all
After jumping through puddles
And watching the leaves blow down the street in the warm breeze.
But you don't know what you're up against.
It's never ending, this storm.
It will knock you off your feet and throw you to the walls
It will take your breath away with strength of repressed anger.
You don't know what you're getting yourself into.
The locals have adjusted, they know the drill, they know the signs.
You have much to learn.

Darling, I'm trying to protect you.
It will send shivers up your neck
Because it's not the kind of storm you see coming from twenty miles away.
It will sneak up on you when you least expect it, but you can't blame the sky for the clouds it didn't mean to create.
You will get angry, you won't understand.
I'm not trying to drive you away my dear,
But the longer we know each other the closer the storm will creep.
So let's enjoy the sunshine as long as we can
Until you have to face my baggage.
Because this storm and I are one.
This storm consumes my mind.
This storm is part of who I am.
And I don't think you're ready to fight it.

Darling, for now, just lay with me.
In the eye of the hurricane.
Surrounded by the thunder
But blissfully oblivious.

Darling, one day,
When you promise me you'll stay,
The sun will fade to grey
And it will rain.

- p. winter

The thread of hope
That my name made you nervous
That my eyes filled your dreams
That my touch was electric
The thread of hope
That my voice stained your mind
That my smell gave you goosebumps
That my taste burned your tongue
The thread of hope
That you didn't want to leave
That it hurt to walk away
That some part of you was hesitant
This thread
It coils around me
Cutting off my circulation
This thread
It ties itself into a noose
Around my neck
And yet
This thread of hope
That you loved me
I refuse to cut
Though it suffocates.
This thread
Will be
The death of me.

- p. winter

I wish that I could tell you where this little train is going,
I wish that I could promise it will make it to the end,
But whatever light or shadow at the tunnel’s mouth awaits,
The journey to my blessing count I’ll wistfully append.

- p. winter

I loved you so much
I still look for the ones who treat me like you did.
That's why
I keep getting hurt.

- p. winter

i used to write in the third person
the girl in my poems
a foreign character

but now i live what i write
and i write what i live
and i make sure the world knows
who i truly
have become

- p. winter

Those eyes, oh those eyes.
I've written too many lines
For those hazel eyes.

Those eyes that wander,
That see everything, but mine.
These eyes that wonder.

Those eyes, oh those eyes.
Looking into those eyes, I'll
Write lines 'til I die.

- p. winter

those who say it's a beautiful feeling
to fall in love
have always been loved
in return

- p. winter

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

thump
thump
the rhythm of your heart
thump
i can feel it even when we're miles apart
rise
rise
the tide inside your chest
fall
as my resting head is lulled by every breath
tick
tick
the hours soaring by
tock
they feel like seconds, tell me, where did all our time fly?
thump
thump
the rhythm of my heart
thump
do you hear it beat for you when we're apart?

- p. winter

In summer clouds
My mind will dream
'Til white lips kiss
Earth's cheek of green.

In flowery dress
I'll twirl my hair
'Til sighs pirouette
Through chilly air.

In grasses tall
My footprints will grow
'Til their stories are
Erased by snow.

Until each flake
Begins its dive
In fire and fireflies
I'll thrive.

- p. winter

I wonder how much I don't remember
That I swore would break my heart forever.

I wonder if times of trouble today
I'll think of, smiling, come next year's May.

- p. winter

They ask me what I want to be when I grow up.
I whisper
"I don't".

- p. winter