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thegirlwhowrites Sep 2018
You are a doll,
too pretty, too arresting.
But you are mass
that demands shaping,
and my fingers are not accustomed
to one such as you.

I press too hard
and sculpt too much.
You are too soft
for my fervid hands.
My own prints roughen you up.
I am anxious.
You should be
as you are.
You are an unshaped doll,
demanding familiarity.

I draw back.
I don't know how to draw back.
My fervid hands are arrested.
Too soft, too much, too hard.
You are pretty but I am anxious.

I can't sculpt you.
My prints are too rough
to be familiar.
I am too unaccustomed.
You should be as you are,
without my prints.
I am not a doll.

for l.r.
*091718
thegirlwhowrites Apr 2018
(aka Home
aka Dear Skrubs, love, your Skrubqueen)

We have made a home
in each other's oddities,
hidden our frustrations
in foreign language.
Together,
we danced Moskau
and sang worship songs
and played Red Sun.

I, for one,
have embraced my sadness
with your presence.
In your loyalty,
I found acceptance.

Dear Skrubs,
I have made a home
in your antics
and pranks
and laughter.
In shared food
and secrets,
I have known love.

We are potatoes
and potatoes are us
(or perhaps that's just me).

But you have hailed me
your Skrubqueen with the potato heart.
No power any license I earn
will ever win me that.
for Grade 7-James, my Skrublords, my kids

*042618*

PS. I'll try to write better next time.
thegirlwhowrites Apr 2018
You are a freedom I dare to indulge in. You are rooftops and walks. You are explorations of old hotels and hardbound books left in shelves. You are a moment (of clouds of dust and abandon) that filled a niche in my being. I have niches far too many to count. I have walked far too many walks. I have sat on rooftops I still miss. I have explored and I have saved moments that are nothing now but accumulated dust. I have hardbound my stories in poems. In my audacity, I am keeping you now - my hopeful space, my abandon.

for l.r.
**041718
thegirlwhowrites Apr 2018
I am futile.
My words are futile.
I am little.
My words are little.
That's inappropriate,
I know.
The same way
no word
(or verse)
is appropriate enough
to describe
You.
first poem - @NaPoWriMo2018
thegirlwhowrites Apr 2018
In my dream,
I was unlocking
you,
portion by portion.
This door
then the next.

I think I know you.
I think -- I
know you

enough

to know
what passcodes to use.
I key in pins
and scramble letters.

Yet
every time,
a new door,
a new dream.

I don't know
you.

for l.r.
040218
second poem for #NaPoWriMo2018
thegirlwhowrites Aug 2017
your voice drones on
through the open door,
history now melodious,
thick, resounding --
the cacophony
of an infatuation

for jj
081617
  Jun 2017 thegirlwhowrites
Lunar
Narukami no sukoshi toyomite
     (A faint clap of thunder)
sashi kumori
     (Clouded skies)
Ame mo furanu ka?
     (Perhaps rain comes)
Kimi wo todomemu
     (If so, will you stay here with me?)

Narukami no sukoshi toyomite
     (A faint clap of thunder)
furazu to mo
     (Even if rain comes not)
warewa tomaramu
     (I will stay here)
imoshi todomeba*
     (Together with you)
here's a tanka which i got from the japanese animated movie, Kotohana no Niwa (The Garden of Words). I just love the question and response written in the text.
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