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“Who are you?” she asks me
With her elbows on the counter
Bridging her kingdom to mine
Her eyes see past me, through me
And I stop and I stammer
Because-- don’t ask me that, I don’t know.
How should I know?
I am a fellow traveler with myself
On this long and lonely road
Growing as I go
A sparrow searching for a nest
Because the places that used to fit me
Can’t hold the ways I’ve grown

And when I find it, I’ll step through that door
Holding hands with my darkest parts
And if I’m lucky I’ll get out before
We burn this whole house down
And as it goes, the bridge of our nose
Will tan, but I’ll get sunburnt still;
From wandering through the deserts of my mind
I know that she, that me, is out there too
And just because we haven’t found us yet
Doesn’t mean we aren’t out there to find.

Our paths just haven’t crossed since they divulged
In a yellow wood I near forget
Ever since the wood was cut
Tree by tree, to make the walls
That make the bedroom in the hall
Above the stairs where I’m still hiding
All my problems, hoping I’ll be gone before they find them.
That wood which held me as I was torn asunder
The paint which soaked up silent tears for years
Can never feel like home, and is it any wonder
That I’ve tied the pink and yellow to my fears?

And have I taken the road less traveled
In hopes of finding something new?
Or am I only pressing on in spite
Inspite of how I slowly come unraveled and unglued?
Alone and lonely—yes, I am
But why change course? For all I know
I’m almost to some place where I can rest
Halfway to some sort of home

And she doesn’t blink or stammer
Her gaze was glazed, and now confused
Because all along she asked me how
I was; she wasn’t asking who.
(And in lieu of that I meant to say
“good thanks, and how are you today?”)
a hodgepodge of songs and lyrics and references for one of the glopowrimo prompts
April showers bring May flowers
They say, they've said for ages gone
But what when April's dry as bones
Parched and bleached by desert suns
And May, her lover, weeps and groans
And the flowers blossom anyway?

Cling to the stars
Gaze up, crane your neck, feel the weight
Your hair in its lopsided ponytail
(No matter what they tell you
nothing decrees that
you must have it perfectly centered, or straight)
Paint your nails-- some, or half, or one, or all--
Whatever your heart desires
Put art on your fingers and the toes of your
Bare feet, pressed against slanted ceilings
As the smell of wood fires drifts through the screen
In, like the breath the world takes
As it wakes, rising in the morning
With gentle blue-toned shadows
And whispers of tires on pavement
Even before the sun

Get up
Early enough to breathe
And don't make your bed
(Unless it will make you happy when you return)
Get dressed
Wear clothes that make you admire yourself
In mirrors, windows, reflections on the train
(It is not vain to love the way you look
nor in vain if it makes
the weight of your heart a little bit lighter to bear)

Press your hand to the glass when it rains
And your nose to the pane when it snows
Or better yet
Go out through the door
Hold hands with the universe
Dance to the time of the storm, or
Reach high, clasp palms, and twirl with the sun
Spun in the wind
Whichever the day warrants
(There will be days that warrant one
or the other, or both,
or something else entirely.)

You'll know, so don't worry.
Don't worry about up, that unattainable goal.
Don't grow up.
Just grow.
Sierra Blasko Mar 10
there will be those who come after us
soft boys and tough boys
rough girls and fluff girls
and every shade of other in between
they will sit where we have sat
and talk of what we said
and we will hand our world over to them
and they will take it
this fragile trembling beast
(we called it earth)
and it will be their world
and it will not be the same world
this earth-thing, this legacy
relies on every story
every creature that has ever walked across its skin
and I
for one
will tread lightly
and paint flowers instead of trampling them
Sierra Blasko Jan 15
Red is Mondays, swirling in a poisoned cloud
Like the aether
Ready to grab my hand
And throw me into the middle of the week
Before I know
What it is exactly that I have touched
And before I am ready as well

Red is apples
Macintosh melancholy
And candle wax galas
Red is an explosion
Of dark magic
Red and black, the perfect duo
Twisting and weaving in their dance
All low notes
And timpani rumbles
And middle C
And like the dueling harmonies
Red is too loud
Too bright
And at the same time
Always present
Always safe

Red is blood
In the same way my emotions are of pearl
Luminescent and shifting

If you see them
Something’s wrong
  Dec 2018 Sierra Blasko
Forget me,
I ask you.
I forgot my smile,
I forgot my laugh.
I forgot me as a child,
I forgot my wrath.
For I have forgotten myself.
So don’t try and think that I am near
I won’t be here
And go away,
Once I fade,
Forget my wrath,
Forget me as a child.
Forget my laugh,
Forget my smile.
I ask you,
Forget me.
Sierra Blasko Nov 2018
If we say goodbye
I will write you a poem
I am a poet,
that is the way of things.

you are lucky
if I write you a poem that says

because to admit
that something happened
is nothing


to admit there might be something
that isn't yet, but could be
hanging in the air

is everything
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