your hand was a star
and begging me
to hold you
to feel your warmth
and let it seep into my fingertips
let it crawl up my veins
let golden heat flow up my arm
caress my collarbones
let it spill into my eyes
and make them flicker sunshine brown
let it stroke the crown of my head
twist around my hair
and weave in tiny daises
that smell like rain
and your shirt
let it make me dizzy
dizzy enough to grip your hand a bit harder
and start the cycle again
a single twinkling cello string
echoes through the night
or perhaps that is just the grasshoppers
with their orchestra of breezes and rattling leaves
the sky surrounds me
and only a thin cotton string
ties my floating body to the earth
my heavy heart a magnet to the warm dirt
the stars hum and reverberate
and my vision of the heavens ebbs and flows
like a roll of film with the pieces cut out
and only the moon remains sharp
as if it is only a hop and a skip from my eyes
as if just maybe
if i stretch my fingers far enough
i could reach out and touch nirvana.
I have a bad habit of only writing about the night sky
once there was a young princess
who was consumed with finding her love
she traveled far and wide to find him
scoured below and above
once there was a foolish princess
who gave her heart away
and received it back in pieces
when her love didn't stay
once there was a broken princess
who met a knight in the woods
and he made her laugh and smile and shout
for his soul was pure and good
once there was a young queen
who learned that love takes different shapes
and the loyal knight that bandaged her soul
showed her that friends can be soulmates
I think sometimes we forget that friendship can also be true love.
there is a quote from a movie i love
and it talks about being perfectly happy
the main character has completed her arc
she has finished her great journey
she is perfectly happy
i cannot claim i know of its existence
it might not live in my reality
i think that i am one of those people
who must venture out alone
and might never return
might never finish my journey
never reach perfect happiness
but perhaps i will reach fulfillment
and i think that would be good enough for me
good enough that I may be at peace
the poets are up late at night
we love to see the stars
something is hidden in them we believe
and we spend forever looking upward
trying to find what we are missing
trying to find the last puzzle piece
trying to find
amid the velvet expanse of the night
i can see it now
you'll pick me up at the corner
just like you used to
and we'll drive down the coast
heading nowhere with no cares
and the salty pacific wind
will weave through our hair
and make you laugh the way you do
from the bottom of your chest to my smile
you'll play me songs you found
and stowed away for this moment
like tiny treasure boxes of gold
with "i love you" inscribed on the side
this is what i dream about
this is what gives me peace
i never thought i would miss it so much.
One of my closest friends used to drive me home after school almost every day, and we would always share new music we had with each other on these car rides. It was one of the only times we got to escape from life and just listen. Thinking about the day we can do that again is something that keeps me going. I hope you all find the thing that keeps you going as well :)
it's past midnight now
the house is silent except for the creaking wind
groaning softly through the rusted vent in my floor
the window is cracked open
i can never sleep with it closed
even though the frost bites at my toes
but i like to hear the sighing of the trees
and the cold reminds me that i exist
my headphones buzz the harmonies of strings
the sound will soon leak into my ears
and drown out my incessant overthinking
or so i wish
i close my eyes and hope that sleep will take me
i looked up synonyms for self-love today
and apparently someone who loves themself
conceited . . .
how saddened i am
that this is how we perceive those
who live without doubt
i walk my dog alone at night
so i can see the sky better
i walk with him and he doesn't much mind
in that serene dark of december
and i drink
'*** i thought it would help me not to think . . .
but here i am
after several shots
thinking all my anxious thoughts.
my grandfather didn't speak much
he barely asked any questions
besides a quiet "how are you?"
he sat in his chair with his newspaper
a grimacing statue
the center of orbit in the house
my grandfather gave me icecream
without me asking
a clinking bowl with sweet vanilla
would appear next to me
and no words would be spoken
my father gives me icecream
without me asking
a clinking bowl before he fades back into the shadows
and i think i'm starting to understand
how we learn to love
i hope i will do more
than give someone a bowl of icecream
welcome to suburbia
where numb is the new norm
stay awhile and realize
it's the quiet and never the storm
oh i'm not complaining
i'm just stuck here waiting . . .
there's a wisp in the shape of a father
and he stands outside my door each night
sometimes he takes human form
just to pour a glass of wine
i've started to see him
in the palms of your hands
and i am so shattered
when i look up to see it isn't him
i don't need to find somebody to love,
i already found them . . .
now i just need somebody to love me back.
us poets are far too arrogante for our words
we speak of intangible things
with such sincerity
convince our readers that we have discovered some sort of truth
tricking them into a false sense of understanding
we think our words and our thoughts are grand
grand enough to be shared and listened too
but perhaps this is okay
perhaps our vague writings of love
and power and greed and anger and sadness
perhaps these poems are not arrogante answers
perhaps we are not tricksters
maybe, just maybe, poets are the translators
of human emotion into ink
but what would I know?
i am just an arrogant poet
death is not a considerate creature
he takes what he wants
not just for spite but also for pleasure
death is a cruel comedian
the more you observe his acts
the more his irony becomes apparent
To any of those who have been unable to visit and grieve their loved ones who have died during this pandemic, my heart goes out to you
i wish i was a soft girl
the ones you find in movies
with tears of honey
and kindness that warms like golden sunshine
dewdrop flowers with ambrosial petals
blooming with unwavering patience and soft lips
instead i am just a girl
with a chest of steel
and i am angry
that i foolishly keep waiting
for someone to lift the curtain
and maybe see me
as a soft girl too
i just want somebody for some time
it can be a short forever
as long as you're all mine
whatever you got in mind, i'm down
just hold me for a moment
make me feel a little more found
they have their hands all over my body
from miles away
across the country
no, across the globe
they have groped my chest
like children with a shiny, new toy
wrapped chains around my stomach
kept the key out of reach
deciding themselves that this is their right
they have given me an impossible standard
and no matter how much self love I have
i still think of starving this chapel
until what protects my body melts away
like a popsicle in a hot summer's heat
i hear behind closed doors
the way they can define me in a single word
they way they reduce me to a single caricature
. . .
it is scary
how many of you do not realize
that you are the "they" i speak of
The music was never sad
But now it is
And I can’t quite put my finger on the reason
The wind has quieted down
And the birds are sleeping in the nest
There is a sinking in my stomach
A bug crawls across the screen
Maybe it’s just the night, the wind says
But I don’t think that’s why
No, that’s not the reason why
who ever thought
that life could become
there are girls
that glow like a warm sunset
their bodies are flowers
delicate and small and easy
i am seventeen soon
two days from sunday to be exact
i don’t know how i feel about growing old
i still feel like i am waiting to be young
will it always feel like this?
there were days when seventeen seemed
i didn’t plan to still be
but i’m here i guess
if i died tomorrow,
the many poems stuck in my head would be left unwritten,
and the lyrics hidden in my guitar would remain without a tune.
the "i love you”s i carried to and from school would be covered in regret like thick dust,
almost as heavy as the chains made of “i’m sorry”s concealed in side pockets of my backpack.
the kisses I saved for the right moment would remain in my desk drawer,
melting into a gooey mess of doubt and hesitations.
if i died tomorrow,
i would beg for more time,
and for that I am ashamed.
It was a good life.
For sure, there was no doubting that.
there were parties,
and fun and excitement,
and adventures and lovers and affairs,
and everything anyone had ever wanted.
But that was before.
That was before he met her and his life changed,
and he no longer wanted to aimlessly
but charmingly stumble through the rest of his life.
He was so busy running from one place to the next that before he could stop himself,
she was gone.
all that was left was a memory.
there was a time
when i was enough for myself . . .
and i do not remember the exact moment
when i decided that i was no longer good.
i seem to always be waiting
perpetually counting the seconds
until someday comes.
i am tired.
i do not want to wait anymore.
and i was never told about lust
and the way that it makes love rust
this is not my own work, just a really cool quote from the song "overgrown" by Felivand
he was an angel, you see,
and that was the problem.
i don't think i believe in love anymore
it's just a transaction of brief attraction
it's what the poets write of
what the poets dream of
what hides behind every locked door
they find themselves standing in front of
but dreams aren't real
and thoughts are deceiving
love is a fleeting negotiation
but here we are
still wondering why all the great love stories end in tragedy
there's a boy
but he doesn't know i exist
and maybe i'm okay with that
there will be another
and maybe he will see me
like no one else has
I am not my weary bones
that drag me through the mud.
Nor the arms that hang beside me
or the beating of my blood.
Nor the cracking joints and fragile skin
that breaks oh so easily
I am not my tired muscles that strain
and beg me to lie down
My worn out eyes that long for sleep
but can’t let slip my crown
I am not the tears in my eyes
that glisten and wish to weep
What am I, you ask?
I am my beating heart
that pounds like a giant drum
my aching soul, my twinkling laughter
my courageous spirit next to none
I am my brilliant mind
that doesn’t know where I’m ending up,
but I know what I am and I know what I’m not
and for now I think that’s enough.
the perfect ugliness
by a broken women
who created beauty
and i'll go to sleep tonight
so i can dream of a boy
who just might love me right
do you think i'm happy?
i just wanna know,
have i been good?
put on the right show?
do you think i'm happy?
have i smiled enough today?
have i laughed enough,
gave all my care away?
do you think i'm happy?
because no one seems to ask
what's going on inside my head,
what's beneath the mask.
do you think i'm happy?
please, god, just say no
because if you don't notice,
i'll know that i'm alone.
i wish i could have been a reason for you to stay.
“i just don’t really wanna be here anymore,” he said softly.
“where? where don’t you wanna be?” i asked.
“i just can’t be here anymore.”
i miss having somebody...
but i don't miss having you.
a little bit like a dream
the way we would gather in the night
and walk the same path
with hushed whispers
down the elevator
into the lounge
taking our unspoken places
whispering among ourselves
about the day's adventures
but then we would be seated
and someone would break the seal of silence
and we would begin to talk...
about our futures
we would predict for each other
what we saw in their crystal ball
though we knew each other
for less days than i can count on my hands
we heard stories about ***
stories about friends
we shared as many laughs as there are stars in the sky...
and when it all ended
i wondered where the time had gone
or if i had imagined it all.
i met the best group of people that will probably never see each other again, and i just can't stop wishing for more time.
she waits until the door closes,
while her hands grip the bathroom counter,
white like the first blizzard of a snowy December,
and hawklike she listens,
for the slightest creak of the floorboards,
for a stifled hum or a muffled footstep,
and when she hears no one,
her face begins to break,
like a piece of china crashing to the ground in slow motion,
and with one shuddering breath,
she allows herself to fall to pieces.
when everyone is sound asleep
i have to remind myself
that i am breathing
and i am alive
i loved him because he made me feel small and fragile,
a feeling i never got quite used to.
probably will take this down later but here it is for now folks
and it's hard sometimes,
when you perform the part,
but no longer know who the actor is.
My words became
And when I
my first speech,
it's the type of secret that isn't yours to tell.
but oh how i wish to feel less alone.
it's just me and this secret i stumbled upon,
and it's trapped me in this perpetual state of processing.
it's not mine to tell,
but it lingers on the tip of my tongue,
waiting for me to betray it...
and betray you.
there are some beautiful things,
that the eye of a camera will never see.
i fell in love with the words you said,
so i strung them up above my bed.
but the shadows played tricks upon my eyes,
and your beautiful words turned into lies.
How bold one gets when one is sure of being loved.
- Sigmund Freud
Not my own work, but a quote that I thought was very fascinating.
i have a wall of the things you said,
it sits and it rots above my bed,
and it sits and it waits and it turns to dust,
'cause you said it was love when it was only lust.
the world needs more dancing fools.