Samantha: Poems

397 · May 2013

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Samantha May 2013

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Our lives have become leftovers and overdue books
Precariously piled porcelain plates
Novels not half read with turned over corners
Both marking the inconsistencies we otherwise chose to ignore
Because dishes only tower when the space outside my bedroom collapses
And stories seem half good with my eyes half shut
And lately that is all they ever are
For what fable is comparable to the shapes I see unconsciously
When cups and bowls are forgotten
When the inconsistencies do not matter because I am close enough to dead
But eyes seem always to open when I least like
And my teetering towers will crash soon enough
With the change I turn over like my pages to pay the fines
Because leftovers become stale
And the books are not mine to keep

368 · May 2013

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Samantha May 2013

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Your eyes dilating in-lust
I search without warrant
Find missing that which I seek
Pleading, I am copious torrent
Coming in waves, leaving in a timely fashion

311 · Mar 2018

winged things

Samantha Mar 2018

winged things

The wind cuts to the bone
and hollows out the marrow.
My body light as air,
I fly just as a sparrow.
But I must be a phoenix,
setting fires in the trees,
and watching as my ashes are blown about the breeze
The sky is grey and thundering,
smothering like a shroud,
until Gods golden hand comes down
and reaches through the clouds.
The light is gentle and placid,
not enough to hurt the eyes,
Michael sings, David strums,
overhead the angels fly

311 · Apr 2018

Who are you?

Samantha Apr 2018

Who are you?

You tuck away bits + pieces, disregard layers of skin.
Threading together a new thesis - What a story you spin!
Hide yourself, disintegrate, until you're born anew;
then bloom again + contemplate all the differing hues.
All the faces you have worn, the places where you hid,
the songs of praise, the scolds in scorn, saccharine and then acrid.
Truly now, who are you?
The body or the name?
Or the cells that live inside you and the energy the exchange?

277 · Apr 2018

run, run, run

Samantha Apr 2018

run, run, run

When the crowd is turned on you,
and your last line of defense walks away,
and there's no place to call home
and the streets become too cold to stay.
I see you walking, never run.

When did you lose yourself, when did you go?
Always a question, but you never know.
So out of touch here! Mind miles away...
But you're dissonant dear, still not much to say.
So you hide behind your faery tales,
sing life is but a dream,
Then row your boat, first set your sails,
Into the blue you flee

275 · Sep 2013

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Samantha Sep 2013

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I love myself most
Even if that means
Loving myself
Alone

I lie to myself
I try to make
The wrongs right
And I write to create
A little world of my belonging
Wherein I am King
Boundless and all powerful yet
So weak and so
At the whim of my word and with a
tint of the tone
I could tumble down to
Rumble with Alice because
In reality, I'm mad as a hatter
And I'm still sad as ****
but smothering it in the
Chloroform clarity of faith
A new familiar vantage
So blinding it makes me question
The similarities regarding the mental status
Of myself and the Hatter
I guess we're one
In the same cause you know
All of us are really
Swing dancing and jitterbugging
Just hopefully not twerking
out and in the bounds of sanity
So I guess whats best
Is to mind my own and
Live life as if I were my most
Idolized history book heroine
Take some names and never
No for an answer
Because if all is one
and one is all
Then I only need
myself to be there when
I fall

266 · May 2013

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Samantha May 2013

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My head was waxed up
Deafened to your shouts
So you left and so did I
To be with the buzzing of the bees

259 · Mar 2018

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Samantha Mar 2018

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I lay dreaming, stretching, sleeping .
You beside, fall into me
Weeping.

Now I'm rousing,
Sore and drowsy,
I pull you close as you sigh loudly:

"How long will you love me,
Before it's all too much?
Because I fear I may lose myself
In the rhythm of your touch.
And I know you don't like promises,
Expectations and their weight...
And I don't really either,
But what if this is fate?"

Toes tangled in cotton,
Egyptian clean white,
Your tears falling silent
As stars in the night.

I know you fear you'll lose it if you soften your grip, but you will suffocate it if you hold any harder

246 · May 2013

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Samantha May 2013

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What am I for
But to sit and wonder what I am for?
With a mind pulsing and grey to match my eyes,
I am not for much.

— The End —