this is my poem for the day
this is me laying next to you
wishing you were
inside me
instead.

slightly ******
i lay here
im wrapped in my Mothers afgan
composed of left over yarn
the colors range
this was her very first one.

i feel paws on my skin
a purr at my arm.

i cant wait to spend another evening
napping with you
and our kittens

we resort to empty fields of grass
and call them our safe places.
my home is where a young beagle chases butterflies around her circle of dirt past the clothesline
and an old German shepherd refuses
the idea of privacy
and comforts me when my mother’s old Victorian house is too big for comfort.

we form bouquets from roadside wildflowers.
from susies, queen Anne’s lace and half-naked dandelions.

the front room is first to catch the eastern sun.
My grandmother leaves flowers on the window sill


and i can hear bumblebees from my bedroom.

Keep grasping that little
piece of grass called hope.
Keep staring into your heart
and repeat why you're worth it.
**** all of the ghosts and demons
haunting your mind with
the little things
that matter.

It gets better.

twenty is looming over me as a shadow does the field
i feel its chill on the tips of my
hairs
my brain keeps thinking
aheadfuturetomorrowwherewillibein5years?
and my heart keeps telling it to calm down.
f ocus on t o da y.
my brain won’t let go so my heart
speedsupandupandup
with all the thoughts occurring at once.

i can’t keep up.

I wanna smoke all my cigarettes
down any drink I can find
remember how I used to call you mine
but you were never really mine

i did not want to say goodbye
not entirely, at least.
but i had to
i had to
i had to


and look at us now.

Weekends
are for feeling lonely,
anxious,
and depressed.
I feel the longing for fun,
but yet I stay still
inside.
This is where I belong,
with the demons inside my head;
Forcing me to become something
I'll never achieve.

it’s been almost 2 years
since we last spoke.
you are still up on your hill
on top of your mountain
when i’m now down in the valley
it’s not as cold here but
the wind is a whisper of you
that seeps into my dreams
here lately and i wish i could
write this to you on notebook paper
and send it in a cardboard box along with
the hoodies i didn’t mean to steal
the basketball shorts and the
muscle shirt with your last name on the back
that i once thought would also
be mine.
but it remains in my storage
where i also keep the memories of you
in the attic of my being
behind promises that inevitably went
unkept and
closed doors where our secrets lie
together.
so here we are, comfortable without each other like we never thought we would and
loving other people like we never thought we could.
so i’ll meet you in my dreams until
you stop coming by
and that night maybe i will be tucked into the arms of my lover or
alone with cold bed sheets
but
my first love,
i will never completely forget you.

(In English, we were supposed to write a poem based off of George Ella Lyon's poem "Where I'm From" and this is the one I wrote)

I am from picture frames,
from Dove and Suave.
I am from the white house on the corner of the street
(far enough from the train tracks, close enough to the park).
I am from lilacs,
from the rose bush on the side of the house,
always humming with bees.

I am from crocheting and complaining,
from Edith, Rachael, and Susanne.
I am from blind eyes with a blue glow,
from "Speak up!" and "Sit up straight."
I am from "Now I lay me down to sleep..."
and old, golden cross necklaces.

I am from Ohio,
turkey, and sweet tea.
From the night my grandparents ran away togethers,
and the glass wedged into my father's finger,
the day god lifted him from the driver's seat.

I'm from the upstairs closet,
sitting beside childhood memorabilia.
Images of faces I never met,
and those I'll never forget.
Bags of animals,
stuffed with imaginary souls,
and boxes of books
which tales will never grow old.

step into the cold night
my boots crunching in the snow
to the spot behind my house
where i can smoke without feeling
completely judged.
listening to soft beats in my ears
my hands are cracked and cold
lifting the fire to my teeth.
the stars are out, though
and i can see the moon above the trees.
i’m by myself in this corner of
siding and snow
my feet are starting to freeze to the ground
but somehow it’s worth it
when i can see the faint snowfall
in the light of the midnight street lamp.
6 minutes of crisp freedom and solitude
i think i might have another one.

Taking off your half faced helmet
To unleash the messy curled
Mop-head of hair
“You need to cut it soon, baby”
I’m too distracted to think
Of trimming those boyish locks.
I remember all the days
I never thought I’d make it out alive.
Half dead for four years
You lit a spark in my mind.
I turn down the ***
I think of you
I think of us.
No high is greater
Than the feeling I have
When I see your smile.
The smile she could never get,
It’s mine now.