wren - Hello Poetry

wren May 28

present me with a flower crown
weaved with daisies and dandelions
hold my hand and call me a monarch
so i can call you mine

infect me with your angelic laugh
paint my face with your smile that glows brighter than the galaxy
remind me what its like
to feel the tendrils of love wrapped around me

there were pores in my heart
i craved for something to fill the wounds
so i sat you down and asked you to be mine
a girl who i can fall in love with who will hold me tight

console me until the pit is filled
and watery lakes have been cemented
but i was too late, i suppose
and again, i am alone

wren May 27

puppeted

the puppeteer will push and pull
at the stolen strings welded to my limbs
one up, one down, spin round then round
your staggered motions dizzies me

the puppet boy will dance and sing
with a voice-box that does not belong to him
pitch high, pitch low, seasick vibrado
your wavering wails strain me

the audience will cheer and shout
in the sea of spectators they swim in
screams loud, screams soft, reverse from the top
your oppressive noise blinds me

i am the puppeted boy who’s driven by everyone but me
for when i cannot sustain my own limbs
other people decide my fate for me

wren May 24

damaged

damaged is the deed that is done
with a dagger who points to the sun
all your damage has been undone
with a pill bottle and a sink and a throat filled with guns
damaging the deserted is never fun
but its not good enough to be seen as one
when damaged tells damage about the sun
one damaged says no damage has been done

wren May 2

GONE

no matter
how many              hours i built
up my                                     script
for the                                          assignment
i had to                                                do well on
the blood
curdling
anxiety                                  couldnt help but
to sweep                                                 it
away                                    out my
heavy, saturated mind
and then its gone

“among the
ancient ruins         of…” i pause
i knew                                         this like
the back of                                     my hand
why could                                                i not
recite                                                  it? the
long long                                  speech
i spent                           4 hours
memorizing gone with a
gust of wind

     would                                                 one not
    remember                                           a river
        that they have                              swallowed
       whole? is it strange                     that it has
        simply evaporated in the             blink of an
        eye, freshwater       stains on the     walls of a
        cup made                      to quench    my long
            lived thirst. i                   am left dry and lonely,
           laying in                              a desert drier than
                              my empty,                            wordless mouth.

        there is simply nothing left to do but stand
        on a stage and stutter, the tantalizing irises
of those
surrounding
threatening
                       to swallow me like black holes. a
                             familiar buzzing ignites in my
blood. anxiety
squeezes my lungs.
the sky above me
         opens up and my invisible words dance in
                      the wind, wishing me luck, and then they’re gone

wren Mar 20

new story, old ghost

i sit in the same place as i did last year
desk worn smooth beneath my hand
the sunlight spills through the glass window
just like it always has

here i listen to a new voice speak
a different cadence and a different tone
but i am not listening to the lecture of the teacher
in this place i feel all alone

i look up from my bleeding cuticles
mind refocusing on the words
and for a single aching second
i see it, there you are

your dark red hair catches in the light
the way it always has when you turn to write
laughter just behind your lips
diamond iris sparking like struck flint

standing in front of the board, it is you—
until it isn’t

faster than it came, the illusion shatters
pain sharp as chalk dust in my throat
my heart stumbles like it forgot how to move forward
without you leading it homeward

i miss you more than words can hold
more than ink can write
more than silence can carry

and yet i sit in this room with this new voice
her new name
pretending not to see your ghost
in every empty space

wren Feb 28

*****

one of two
me and you

we can swim in the dark and ill still recognize your face
your smile
your heart
warmer than stars which light the universe and sets me free

you were hand crafted by all who came before
built cell by cell in the womb of the sun
so your brightness reflects on my face
made just for me,

wren Feb 26

silent singer

first there were no words to speak
a romanticized tranquility that took the form of a smile
but there is no happiness in numbness
only empty space

then came the rivers of screams
from the red blood cells that are free
to retire from carrying a life on their back
color a painting on a canvas that never agreed

and at last it was silence once again
this time not from lack of words
but from the ability to pretend
that your bones are not to break from griefs descend

why not be a silent singer if no one will listen
when you strain your pleads past their god-given limit
and i testify against these tired, painful vows
until they lose every ounce of oxygen and finally fizzle out