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Dec 2018 · 146
Leftover Coffee
Heather McCorkle Dec 2018
You forgot about me
Like you forget so many things

Your youthful dreams
The cold coffee still found in your cup
The golden sunlight
When it's cold outside

The lipstick residue on your chapped lips  
The strangers who smile at you each day
The people you could get to know if you only forgot about yourself

But that's one thing you'll always remember
Nov 2018 · 269
Heather McCorkle Nov 2018
Your hands look soft, like the formation of a memory
Slowly molding it
Wet clay that will crystallize to look fondly upon

"And with remorse," she atoned "With bitterness"

"Yes," I reckoned
But your eyes could never manufacture such a memory

"How do you know?"
She looked at her hands, small on her lap

"Because they are beautiful."

She smiled

She was already knitting a keepsake memory
Oct 2018 · 136
Maybe She Won't
Heather McCorkle Oct 2018
She walks on the bus
Finds a seat
Somewhere in the middle
She's not popular or bold enough to sit in the back
She talks some
But she doesn't necessarily want to be seen
She's about as average as they come

It's 6 am
Dark outside
Cold, wet
Despite this, she drifts her face to the window
To the shapes and shadows

Her thoughts take her
Where they only take her on chilly mornings
when the stars are bright

Deep, philosophical thoughts
She knows the origin of the earth
She understands the Pythagorean theorem and why a right angle is 90 degrees
Things begin to connect and align like the stars
Only to be unraveled again when the sun comes out

Among these thoughts
She wonders about herself
She wants to make a difference
Even though she's a tiny speck in this vast universe

She runs through her accomplishments
The time she gave a speech in front of her 8th-grade class at graduation
That A+ on her math final
Those poems she wrote to her relatives on Christmas
That one song she sang that made her mother cry

"It's not enough," she thinks. "What have I done that will make any difference in the world?"

The stars begin to disappear
The sun floats
The sky turns colour
And the world has form and light

She walks to school
Feeling burdened and useless

I wish she would've stayed a little bit longer
In that middle bus seat
Looked at that one microscopic star, so small, yet still part of the system called the universe

If she had stayed
I would've told her

"Maybe you won't"

Maybe she won't change the world
Maybe she won't find the cure for cancer
Maybe she won't stop World Hunger

Maybe she won't grow up smart and successful
Her name in every newspaper

Maybe she won't become president
Maybe she won't be on TV

Maybe she won't climb a mountain
Maybe she won't write a book that changes the world

Maybe she won't build a castle
Maybe she won't found a city
Maybe she won't start a dynasty

Maybe she won't

But she is still important
She still matters
She still has a purpose
She is enough
She has a reason to exist

She is perfect the way she is
Sep 2018 · 171
Heather McCorkle Sep 2018
You are officially someone I write sad, pathetic poetry about

You have become ink blots
Pencil shavings
Illegible lyrics

You should feel honoured
Pat yourself on the back

I'm getting the feeling I could write a book about you
I'd probably burn it afterward
But it's the thought that counts

At least I know you'll never read this
You don't like to read
A warning - red light - from the start

Are you even worth a poem?

On second thought, everyone is worth a poem
That's the good thing about prose

Everyone -large, or small - is entitled to words

Yours just might not be so pretty
Sep 2018 · 139
Heather McCorkle Sep 2018
I thought that maybe, just maybe
You'd be the one to see me
through my shyness

It was all wishful thinking

You're just like everyone else, expecting me to change
To "come out of my shell"
Can't you see I already have?
I'm cracked beyond belief
by all these people trying to alter

Why am I not good enough for you?
Sep 2018 · 471
Notes to a Nobody
Heather McCorkle Sep 2018
I wish I could hold the night. It doesn't stay long enough. I hardly get a taste of it. I'm stuck in my room, trying to sleep. But I can't. If my bed had wings, I'd fly into the night and I'd see the world without colour and imagine I was the one painting it.
                                                        -What would you use?
I'd improvise. I'd use words. Words have colour, you know. Voices. Thoughts. Music.
                                                      -What type of music?
The type of music that makes you feel life is worth living. That somehow, everything has a place, even when it doesn't.

I sometimes wonder about the clouds. They have everything they could ever imagine - nutrients, beauty, a breathtaking view on the top of the world. They're friends with the stars. Yet, they wander. Hopelessly. The sky is different every day because the clouds keep on moving, floating to nowhere. And even though it has it all, it begins to sink as it replenishes the ground with it's rain.
                                                      -You're a strange one.
I used to think so.

                                    -Do you think they'll ever write a book about us?
That depends. Who are you?
                                                    -Wouldn't you like to know.
Are you my conscience?
                                                 -If I were, you'd know it.
I don't understand.
                                           -You will, in time. tell me more.
I'm afraid I've run out of things to say.
                                     -No you haven't. You never could, as long as the things you say are written.

Do you know how I danced? I twirled and twirled without stopping. The crickets was my music. The greenest grass you've ever seen was my carpet. I danced until the moon slid into the sky. I danced, barefoot.
                                                 -And you laughed.
I don't remember anyone being there.
                                        -But I was. I admired how you danced like you didn't care if others were watching.

I usually care.
                                         -You didn't then.

Feel the wind! I'm gonna travel it one day!
                                           -You already are.
Is it bad that I've already begun to craft my memoirs? I think of them at night. I'm too young to die, but a part of my spirit wonders if that's true.
                                         -You will never die.
Easy for you to say. I'm sure you're immortal, right?.... No response? Well, if I die, it will be from writing myself out until I fade.
                                       -No. You'd die if you didn't write yourself out.

Who are you anyway?
I wrote this on a random summer night. Who do you think the "nobody" is? Comment below!
Jul 2018 · 119
Heather McCorkle Jul 2018
Art is made in the darkness
It is clothed in the darkest shadows
The ones that come to haunt and to despair

Art is made when the sun sinks
When it floats to the surface and rests
The moon rises in a illumination
And looks fondly to the world

Art is made cuddling the moon
Covers thrown over a bed
Eerie noises
Everything is transformed
The world looks so different when there is no light to balance out the darkness

Lying awake
My eyelids are heavy
But I can't sleep
Ideas are floating in my mind

The rain bounces off the window
The branches slick to my view like a thin trail of mud

Art has a way of making light when there isn't any
It appears when you least expect it
When you're unconscious but there's a cinema going on in your head

The greatest poems, the sweetest notes
All come when the mind is refreshed
When the room is dark

If there wasn't any art
We'd all be living in a bubble of black
Even in the middle of the day

I thank God for the shadows
I thank God for the stars
Misery and pain seem useless and burdening
But it's from those times that we can create the most good

Is made in the shadows
#Art #shadows
Jul 2018 · 1.0k
Heather McCorkle Jul 2018
I was told that I have a small personality
What does that even mean?
I've been trying to figure it out
The accusation coursing through my veins while I bleed

How small exactly?
As knit as a picnic basket?
As crushable as an ant?
As microscopic as a germ that festers and grows into a size where it has symptoms but no sight?

If I am a germ that means I can start epidemics that sweep nations
Racking coughs and blood-shot eyes
Why are you acting surprised?
Don't worry, you don't realize
IF I were that small, I'd never use sickness as my disguise

I guess you assume I'm small because I'm shy
No, not shy
I'm not scared to talk to you
I'm not scared to show my emotions
I just don't

Here you are, trying to fix me into something I'm not
When you don't even know the real me

Because if you think I'm small
You don't know me at all

My personality is BIG
I can switch from being mellow to violent as quick as a magic trick
And by violent I don't mean I'll cover someone with scratches
I mean vibrant and burning - here I am with the matches

So many colours
Soft yellow and grass green
Amber, scarlet, indigo, violet
My world is encircled by rainbows

My volume has the widest range - it's my choice
when I decide to speak softly
But I can yell
And I yell proudly

Please don't tell me I'm small
Please don't try to fit me in a box
There's nothing wrong with being reserved
Unless you lack passion which allows you to jump

To fly, actually
I've seen every corner of the sky
Have you?
I don't think so
I don't mean to be cocky
But I'd rather my personality be rocky
Than put on a front where I laugh and smile and scream
I'll let my heart speak when it wants to
Don't mock me

So no
My personality is not small
Not at all

I'm like a flower
A bud
In a sun kissed room
Just give me water
And I'm going to bloom
#bloom #reserved
Jul 2018 · 100
How are you?
Heather McCorkle Jul 2018
Today you said "How are you?"
You've never done that before
It startled me
Like a riveting storm when the weatherman prophesied clear skies

Today you looked me in my eyes
You've never done that before
It surprised me
Seeing the waves of amber and brown leather as if they were somehow tangling with the brown hues of my own

All of this matters
It's never mattered before
Jul 2018 · 172
Heather McCorkle Jul 2018
Before, every object had a word
Every action had a verb
I could see it printed in my head like the dots on a crinkled newspaper

The sky wasn't just a sky
It was a robin's egg blue canvas painted on with wisps and spirals and flecks of the most vibrant white
Expanding, curving, fluctuating into a sphere that covered the earth

The ground wasn't just a ground
It was emerald green whistles, strands bending in the air, speckled with white and dotted with lavender
Floating and coursing with the wind

This was before
This was when someone said something I'd see the words, ",he declared"
This was when someone looked annoyed, I'd peg, "He raised his eyebrows"
This was before
When I had words
Every word was a colour
It would ache if the colour wasn't the right hue
And refresh if it was
Now, all I see is reality
And it turns out it's all in black and white
Jul 2018 · 111
Heather McCorkle Jul 2018
Dreams are burdens, and blessings
They make you independent and yet they'll never come true unless you're dependent
They look like cotton candy and yet that's only on the surface
In reality, they'll floating air that's somehow become attached to ice and dirt

Dreams are songs and silence
The notes are vibrant and hopeful until you realize it's all in your head
And the atmosphere around your mouth is void of any melody

Dreams make you alive and yet they keep you awake
Holograms of what could be while you're trying to sleep
Dreams never let go, and yet at the same time they're a million miles away

Dreams are glasses and a blackout
They give you vision until you wonder if the lights are on at all
Discouragement turns the light into a tiny flicker

Dreams are burdens, and blessings
And yet, life without dreams is no life at all
Jun 2018 · 149
Two Minutes
Heather McCorkle Jun 2018
These are the things I'd write you if I could
I'm sorry
I'm sorry
I know you've forgotten the mist
The wisp of blown off soup that was poorly crafted
The onion is too strong
The spices tantalizing
Moments never spent with you
I never meant to ignore you
It just happened
Two minutes
That's how long the longest conversation we ever had lasted
You laughed
I will never forget the sound of your laugh
What have you done with our two minutes?
Have you tucked it under your pillow?
Folded it up in your pocket?
Stitched it in the fabric of the sky
So that when the stars twinkle you remember the sound of my laugh
My stupid, pathetic laugh
I drank too quickly
I slurped from my spoon
I longed too much
I know
I know
You've thrown away the two minutes
Because they don't mean anything to you
Because you've grown numb to me
And your laugh is hollow now
I hope you can forgive me
I hope I can forgive myself
I see you sneak away into the next room to eat by yourself
You don't even ask how I am anymore
What would my answer be?
What do you think
Slowly cooling and trying not to lock away those two minutes that I know I will always remember
They will always haunt me
Jun 2018 · 144
No One Knows Me
Heather McCorkle Jun 2018
Can’t help feeling
As I’m staring at the ceiling
And my reality is peeling
Because I am thinking
And reeling
And stealing insecurities in my mind
The clock ticks, and there goes time

No one really knows me
There, I said it
As no one can measure the depth of the sea
No one knows me
Not even my family

When you look at me, what do you see?
Quiet, hiding in corners
There’s no way around her, you’d have to pay a fine to cross the border
Her voice never raising above a whisper
You think you know her
But you miss her

I don’t smile
I do smile, but only once in awhile and when I’m feeling wild and like a child
But my expressions are limited
Far from being riveted
If I look unhappy I’m probably not
So if I look happy; I’m caught
Because, thought it’s happiness I sought, I’m not

Sometimes, with my close friends
They’ll get a glimpse of my energy
Running around in circles, punching out the enemy
There I smile, there I laugh
There my brockade is slipping, and I’m not as docile as a cat

But even then - even they
Don’t know me
The nectar of the flowers has never touched the bee
There is so much in my mind
So many dimensions, so many lines
If I were to tell you everything that’s in there, we’d run out of time
There are the corners full of regrets, of aspirations
I have so many dreams but lately I’ve been fraying at the seams and it’s hard to see or believe in me when there are so many vacations

I don’t even know if I know me
Some days I’m an introvert
Some days I’m an extrovert
Some days I lie and sit
Other days I never quit

Some days I’m silent
Some days I’m vibrant
Some days I’m lonely
I know I’m not the only one
But it feels that way sometimes

It’ll take a lifetime, probably, to figure myself out
It scares me how I’m a mystery even to myself
Jun 2018 · 174
I Don't Want a Legacy
Heather McCorkle Jun 2018
I don't want a legacy
I'm scared of how people will remember me
Should I pass from Earth infinity
What of me is left for people to see?

I don't want my books to be passed with care
As if my face was once imaged there
Dusty shelves, 100 books at least
That is all of me, when I'm deceased

Every journal, every word
Say there was a fire, everything would burn
Along with myself
My insides churn
With the very idea

I don't want a legacy
How can people expect to remember me
When they didn't even know me?

When I didn't show my true self
As if my life is stuck on a shelf
As if all I am are scraps of material
You can't just pour me out, store me in a cardboard box like cereal

If I die tonight
Remember every smile, laugh, conversation
But know my soul has black spaces between the stars, darkness in the constellation

I don't live my life so I'll be known by my accomplishments
If that's how you know me, you can demolish it

My only last hope would be that I
helped people
Showed them the God who loves
Even away from the steeple

Right now I'm living
But what if?

I don't want a legacy
Because there is so much more to me
And I have wings that are already flying
I don't want a legacy because honestly
I'm scared of dying
#legacy #morethancardboard
May 2018 · 134
She Ran Through the Herbs
Heather McCorkle May 2018
She ran through the herbs
The mint brushed against her skin
She ran through the herbs
The basil batted
She ran through the herbs
The oregano tilted and swayed
She ran through the herbs
The dandelions smiled
She ran through the herbs
The dirt pounded against the palms of her feet
She ran through the herbs
A little worm wiggled between the green feathery plants
She ran through the herbs
Laughing the whole way
If you truly cared you wouldn't scold her
You wouldn't tell her that she'd ruin the garden
That her skin would have the inflammable scent of spices
Instead, you would run through the herbs with her
May 2018 · 299
Heather McCorkle May 2018
The aroma is hot, people heaped together like the pooling of the water fountain as it sprays on the grass
People have set up lawn chairs
Mostly elderly people who have time to sit in the park
Flies wiggling around them
As they listen to a rock band that sways like perplexed grass and sings like the words don't matter and only the guitar, the absolute intricacy of the guitar, is heard
I notice
Ahead of me
an elderly lady
Brown hair cut into a blob on her head
Lipstick, floral dress
Skin that is starting to fold
She feels hungry and opens the cooler
To display a pre-bought sandwich and a plastic bag
She unzips the bag carefully and gingerly takes out a
crisp, pressed white napkin
Which she doesn't end up needing anyway
I can't help thinking that there is irony to this
How something as trivial as napkins can point back to generations before
When the lady was younger
She sat in the glimmering sun in the tall, waving grass
A young man sat beside her
They laid on the gingham
As watermelon juice trickled down his chin
"Poor you!" she laughed. "I forgot to bring the napkins!"
The reality is, she didn't forget
There was no mess to be cleaned up
There was only youth speckled with love and you would be a fool to miss the opportunity when watermelon stuck frozen to his chin so that when you kissed him you could taste the lingering fruit
Years later
She's bouncing in the living room with her little girl
Brown ringlets, just like her
They're eating spaghetti
The kind that is doused in a crimson sauce so that when the strands wiggle on her chin it leaves a trail of red
"Poor you!" she laughs. "I didn't give you a napkin."
The reality is, she didn't forget
There was no mess to be cleaned up
There were only children speckled with love and you would be a fool to miss the memory of crusted spaghetti sauce and that dimpled smile with holes in her mouth
Years later
She thinks about the times when she forgot the napkins
Thinking she'll be practical this time she swipes a few
But she forgets the plastic bag
One day she remembers it but she forgets to close it
The surprise is a family of ants
With the music fading and the air electric
She knows there is no mess to be cleaned up
But she brings out the plastic bag of napkins anyway
She holds on to the velvety scrap and breathes
It is the one connection to her past life
Someone spills something
"Poor you!" she laughs. "I forgot the napkins."
The reality is, she didn't forget
She hides them in her purse - that Mary Poppins of a possession
And smiles
Because she would be a fool to miss it
Just thought of this while I was in the park listening to a band. I noticed the lady ahead of me take out a bag of plastic napkins. Well, inspiration comes with the oddest things.
May 2018 · 89
Fading Melody
Heather McCorkle May 2018
I laugh because it hurts too much to scream
I sing because you don't hear me when I speak
I run because my past is quick and cunning
I walk because I am too tired
I'm silent because all you hear is a melody, noise, a string of notes
Something that won't amount to anything
May 2018 · 170
Why Are You Smiling?
Heather McCorkle May 2018
Don't you see the darkness? Don't you feel it hammering in your soul?
After school, walking through the halls
The bell's clang is still ringing in my ear like a reverberating hollow in a tree
Our faces connect, I'm fond of staring
You stare back but icily
Apparently, my face isn't looking friendly
Then you go back to smiling
Wide brimmed, joyful
I get it
You're excited to go home
To latch onto your friends and talk
Why are you smiling?
In my mind, prison
Prison, in my mind
Eyes downcast
I'm longing
Are you longing?
If you are, you're not showing it
Haven't you noticed, that I leave the real world
After about an hour
That is where I fade into the neurons of my mind, into the knobby flesh of my brain
I'm thinking, I'm thinking, I'm reeling
Why are you smiling?
Aren't you thinking about all the suffering of the world?
Empty stomachs, bullets sailing
And how I can't do anything about it
I laugh a lot
I may pretend to be alright
Keyword: pretend
But I'm not really in the halls
My body has left and I'm simply lagging, floating, like a hologram
Wondering and wandering
Why are you smiling?
You shouldn't be
I've heard smiles are contagious
No, not me
No, not me
No, wait, a curve of my lip
A flash of my yellow teeth
Wait! Stop! I'm not happy!
Until I let it slide
The burden falls
The sun is shining
Why AREN'T you smiling?
Usually that perfect ending doesn't come. But I know that one day it will. Afterall, smiles are contagious.
May 2018 · 273
Heather McCorkle May 2018
One moment, a splintered moment, caught by the haze and crossfire
I felt like a hypocrite
Always telling people "it'll all work out" and things like "life is full of pain but you'll get through it"
Life is full of pain
I transposed lines about how sadness is multiplying
All the while smiling because my life was so great and high flying
Then, I longed for, in the selfish part of my heart
Pain, misery
Maybe then I'd understand people, and they'd understand me
Really understand
Not just the empathy, I can imagine what your shoes feel like
More like your shoes are closing in on my toes and I smell burnt rubber and all the times you ran and ran while holes punctured deep but you never had the heart nor the money to replace them
Almost suddenly I didn't even have to search for misery
Looking deep within myself I realised that I've had it all along
It's been living with me
Probably for forever
The fact doesn't help, it doesn't hurt
It just makes my shoes feel even tighter around my shrivelled toes
Or as tight as they've always been
May 2018 · 167
Heather McCorkle May 2018
I've never been in a war
Blood has never entrenched me
My limbs have never been severed
For the most part, I've been free

I've never had to hide
From someone beating and beating
I've never taken drugs
Cigars have never preceded me

The only death I've experienced
Is my grandma who used to sew a bunch
My sister died when I was a baby
I don't remember her, so I don't feel much

Annually, I get a fever twice
I've had heaps of friends along the years
I always get money on my Birthday and Christmas
I've scarcely shed tears

But my life isn't perfect
There are battles I fight every day
I'm young but that's not an excuse
To not feel pain

Nights are the worst
My mind is alive thinking
My regrets are coiling and rebounding
They attack me 'til I'm bleeding

I have conversations with someone I've never met
I long for someone to truly tell everything
Not just a paperback diary or a church
Not just in the songs that I sing

I'm trying to find my identity
Some days I'm loud and crazy
Most days I'm quiet
Every day I'm lazy

I wonder what to say to someone
Something that won't imprison
Me in a cycle of "They're going to judge me"
They'll leave before they've actually listened

I think about my future
Hoping my dreams will come true
Yet it's hard to know if I'll ever get there
The worry is as vast as the sky is blue

I have a lot of doubts about God
Even though I'll never leave
His love is too real to say goodbye
Yet sometimes it's hard to fully believe

So no
I've never been in a war
My home life is equal to what many call bliss
I've never been in want for anything
Content-ness I shouldn't have to miss

Yet in my thoughts
I feel a sadness
That's hard to escape
Huh, kinda like sin
Every day I'm inwardly fighting my own battles
And I wonder if I'll ever win
I've decided that I'm going to be more real with what I write. The purpose of art is to express yourself, and I need to be brave enough to that. I need to be brave enough to point out the fact that I am a warrior.
May 2018 · 100
Heather McCorkle May 2018
You know that feeling where one moment you're happy and the next you're sad and your throat hurts and you remember that one glimpse where you could do anything the sun was shining you just bought a poetry book and watched a royal wedding and found some really swell gloves at a garage sale and a parasol that you can fan when it rains and when it rains it pours wondering if anyone actually will read this or understand this Read this? Understand this? What's the future, someone tell me the future, I'm trying to grasp it with music but there's only so much a guitar can do or maybe a guitar's bound is limitless but its the person that can't do much and there's music playing and I want to feel passion but I can't trust my feelings because they're dusty and tinted and they always fool me and right now, right now, I just want to snuggle with my cat while wondering while wandering while thinking deeply and is it obvious I'm an introvert? Just trust God doesn't work here Just count on Him - He's in control I know I know I know and yet, do I? I can't trust my feelings but I can trust the love I can trust the sky I can trust the fact that I just need to hand it over to him Who's Reading this? Who can understand it? Me I don't need to please anyone I just need to please myself I'm wondering if that's possible I'm wondering I'm wandering I'm lost wait a day I'll be Found
Not sure what this is... If you actually read it through good for you! I guess it's the implemented version of my thoughts right now. I needed someplace to overflow.
Apr 2018 · 257
The Perpetual Dream
Heather McCorkle Apr 2018
I don't know why I keep dreaming about you
Every night, a different place, a different face, and yet I chase and yet you're there
And we talk and we laugh and you're there
I don't need you
I told myself I let you go, that you were fading like the muted colour of a tapestry that never should've been woven in the first place
I told myself I was through
With you
So why won't you leave?
You've gotten a hold of my dreams, moonlight streaming by the eaves
I'm used to it now
I look forward to it now
We're such friends at night, something I never knew during the day
We're secure at night, something I never felt during the day
I wonder if, one night in salty dreamland, you won't be there
You'll leave - never return
Will I miss you?
I've been dreaming about you - I must somehow have a connection
Like there's a string in me that's subconsciously connected to you
I wonder
Are you dreaming of me?
And why
Do I even care?
#dreamland #regrets #subconsious #freeverse
Apr 2018 · 173
Tangible Life
Heather McCorkle Apr 2018
A moment
Otherwise commonplace

The door swings open
And a word is unenthused - a welcome
"Rosaline" - It's Rosaline's father who is hanging by the back door, clad in a raincoat with palpable raindrops

He's holding something
Small, oval shaped
"It's an egg," he says "A duck egg"

Rose ventures closer, not believing him
She's fond of nature and herb remedies
She sees the gel-like substance, void of protective shell, a faint orange block bobbing ever so slightly inside

She topples to the floor in disbelief
Smiling, grinning, actually, at the discovering

She's also wary

It's fragile

We all come closer
Rose rests a fingertip on the squishy egg
She exclaims, "It's heartbeat. I can feel it's heartbeat."

Its heart is weak, but it's still miraculous to feel

How? Can someone excuse life when they feel it in their fingertips?

The duck inside will one day hatch, soon
I believe it will thrive despite the cold

It will grow, and chirp, and flounder

But it is life

We could not bear to see the elementary duckling die

Because once you've touched life
You long for nothing else
#life #chooselife #duckeggs #spring
Apr 2018 · 131
Heather McCorkle Apr 2018
I feel happy today
I don't know why
But then I think, "You have to have a reason to be sad, but you don't have to have a reason to be happy."
I actually read that quote "reason to be sad..." in a book by Louis Sachar and I haven't stopped thinking about it since. For the most part, it seems true.
Apr 2018 · 150
As If
Heather McCorkle Apr 2018
It’s as if
I’m the only one
Above all this
Seeing everything -
Seeing all the risks
Apr 2018 · 157
Not Alone
Heather McCorkle Apr 2018
I am dimly aware
Of evaporating air
Of a wire and a snare
And I am not alone

I have battles in my mind
Carry myself, miss no time
But I never miss a rhyme
And I am not alone

I travel far in one day
Back and forward, the sun’s ray
And I don’t speak when I have something to say
And I am not alone

I keep a beat, I keep a time
I try my hardest in a line
I will always act sublime
And I am not alone

People, search, wander
Put on a cover
But I'm so tired of acting like everyone’s Same
And I am not alone
This was a Word Doodle I wrote a few months back. (A Word Doodle is when I'm bored and decide to doodle with words, never quite knowing what's going to come out or what it all means. Basically fragmented thoughts).
Apr 2018 · 130
I Don't Know
Heather McCorkle Apr 2018
I’m talking to me
I should be free
Then why are these chains engulfing me?
I’m hung by a tree
As the rope clutches my throat
I’ve got this pen
What it's writing
I don’t know
Apr 2018 · 144
God's Poem
Heather McCorkle Apr 2018
I think we spend our days dreaming
Things bright, things whole, things bleeding
For something better than what we have now

We are wonderstruck by the sky
You better believe it's a beautiful sight

But then we think of ourselves
Stock us on shelves
That get old and dusty
But really, must we?

He calls us perfect
And we're so worth it
Do we ever know
How we're his pollema  - his poem
In our eyes, he's written pretty rhymes
In our hair, there's beauty everywhere
In our souls, there's limericks that glows
He looks at the heart not at what people stare at
Sonnets, honest -ly you should see
How we are a masterpiece
Please note
How we are
God's Poem
You are God's Poem. This means you are a masterpiece. Well thought out.With deep dimensions and inner beauty. It means that you are as precious as sunsets and chestnut trees in the moonlight. It means you are beautiful.
Apr 2018 · 119
Beautiful Mess
Heather McCorkle Apr 2018
Look at all the colours
Up there in the sky
Look at all the beauty
It catches you by surprise
You're not sure if you can handle that masterpiece
Cause you don't know if you're broken, beautiful
Or somewhere in between

But anywhere you go
Anywhere you are
You're a shining star
Burning in the dark
Don't be afraid to say
"I'm beautiful in every way"
I'm a mess
I am broken
I'll confess
I'm not perfect
But that's okay
God still loves me that way
Some days we feel whole. Some days we feel broken. Ugly. Beautiful. God doesn't love you any less on those bad days. He created you. He crafted you, painted you, just like the sunsets of the night. He loves your lovely imperfections and your beautiful messes.
This is actually a part of a song I wrote. You can check it out on my Youtube: Horizon of Hope.
Apr 2018 · 155
Find You
Heather McCorkle Apr 2018
I was holding on
Maybe you thought I could sing the words
Another day goes on
I don't really know what's wrong
But I am burned
Now you're telling me
This is a memory
Maybe we weren't meant at all
Now you're selling me
Down to the big ol' dreams
I can't even mend at all

I'm broken inside
I'm covering up higher
Day passes and I cannot fight the fire
Did you know?
I fall in
Cause I'm still trying to find you

Will you find me?
Apr 2018 · 684
Six Millon
Heather McCorkle Apr 2018
six million
six million
six million
six million
six million
six million
six million
six million
six million
six million
six million
six million
six million
by one speck of
Apr 2018 · 498
Heather McCorkle Apr 2018
Every day is the same
We get up and we get dressed
Then we leave and we try to forget
It's a cycle and we need rest
We want to believe we'll get past this
But will we ever get past this?

I'm trying to find my place
I'm trying to find a strategy
I can't erase my life
So I watch while it erases me

Put the pill in, still, I sink
That doesn't work so a needle, a kink
I'm on the brink
I need to breathe something
I need, I need, I need
to believe in something
I'm addicted to believing in all the wrong things

We're addicted
If this is all life is, then we cannot resist
The pattern, the object, with all of its tricks
We're addicted
Will we ever stop?

I'm addicted to saying, "I'm okay"
You know those days, every day
Clearly, I'm hurting inside, but when someone comes up I just lie
I lie about a lot of things, actually

I'm addicted to love
But it's not really love
I'm chasing relationship after vacation this is only attraction its a fraction of something cold inside me
Tell me you love me
I'll show you I love you
But I don't really

We're addicted

What if I were to tell you?
That we have someone else to be satisfied
People say, "Why you gotta drag Him in"
Otherwise, our lives would be a lie
All a lie

Let's be addicted
to God's love
It's so uplifting
It's always enough
If this is what love is, then I feel it
The peace, and the hope, and I reel it in
I'll need to come back again and again

We don't have to stop

We get up and we get dressed
Get down on our knees 'cause we know we're blessed
Not a routine, not a plead
But a lifeline
He will always satisfy
Apr 2018 · 209
The Rooster Crows
Heather McCorkle Apr 2018
Under the same old corn blue moon
There in the canvas plays a tune
We dance by the firelight, paint our faces
But does that make us lower than all races?

We all have dreams
Far and small
We all plant seeds
Though you Englishers do it wrong
And we all triumph
And we all bleed
Isn't it true, though?
That we all dream

And we'll play a single note
When the rooster crows
Try to imagine a Native American saying this poem this in the 1600's, when the immigrants from England invaded their land and were sought to hate the natives. The Indian is dreaming of the day when we'll all sing the same note. When the rooster crows, morning arrives, and we'll wake up to equality.
Apr 2018 · 96
Heather McCorkle Apr 2018
So many shelves
I want to delve
I want to feel the covers
Makes me shiver with pleasure
Drawn in beyond measure

Let me be brought into your world
Fall in the story
Like Alice in Wonderland
Watch the adventure
Feel the adventure

So many pages, lasting through the ages
But books are still portals
Still honey
Still a blooming rose
This I know

Dare to read
Dare to believe
I don't know what you heard
But the World is made of words
Apr 2018 · 160
Chestnut Tree
Heather McCorkle Apr 2018
Some nights I look out at the world
Wondering if time stood still
Would things really change

I see the beauty in most everything
How nature is like music
Makes my heart want to sing
And I wonder
How our thoughts get rearranged

How people can think
That life is misery
Heart as black as ink
At least, that's what they tell me

How people can think
That there's no hope
There are others less fortunate
So we must cope
What a joke
That's why I tell me

Just look at the chestnut tree
This is actually part of a song that I wrote for what could be a musical about Anne Frank. If you've read her diary, you know how much she admired nature and how her chestnut tree out her window brought her so much hope in the midst of despair.
Mar 2018 · 605
Broken Spoken Word
Heather McCorkle Mar 2018
I am crippling
First board breaks, sends a rippling
Feel the slipping in
Foundation never listening

It falls
In slabs
To the ground
If no one’s around, does it even make a sound?

Father left
His family was in debt
He spent every cent
He had a wife, three kids
Breaking at the wood, his aim never missed.

Brother drunk
Every night
At first it was fun, but then he got into another fight
Stealing to the streets
To satisfy his longing
Never far from the home
Doing all the wronging  

The mother is always distant
Going ballistic
Sometimes she’d drink
And you’d want her too
‘Cause when she was sober, she’d take it out on you

Just let the people wallow in their sorrow

The door is all warped
The rug is out of love
The windows are cracked
The house will never last

When the person steps inside
They don’t know where to begin
Feel like they’ll never fit in
Know that they will never win
I guess that’s why when people address me
They call me broken
This is a poem describing a broken family. I personally do not have a family such as this one, but I tried to imagine what it would be like. I hope none of you has to experience this, but if you do, know that you are not alone. Also, remember that God loves you and is there for you always. :)
Heather McCorkle Mar 2018
What’s the one thing we long for?
The one thing that’ll break our hundred brick wall
You might say money
But funny
‘Cuz I wasn’t going to say that at all
Perhaps it’s jewelry
But I’d be wearing some, surely

No, the one thing we invest our life in
Is something more than simply an expensive item

We look for love in the most strange places
Like behind a wall, under a table, or in a collection of cases
And the place I think we look to the most
Is hollywood - our computer screen - with that beautiful model as a host
You see, the world tells us love is something you get that you have to earn
An emotion that may only last a turn
‘Cuz you know the world is prone to change its mind
One second it’s anchored at the sea - the next at the sky

And so we live life
A zombie
Wandering around like a lovesick - wannabe
Thought you caught love in your butterfly net
But if flies off - you haven’t seen it yet

We’ve been failed so many times
But people who told us we were loved but then jumped to the next lines
We try to prioritize
Put something else on the top of our list
But deep inside we know it’s our heart we don’t want to risk

I could slam more words on you
But let me get to the point
The true meaning of love doesn’t waver at its joint

Love is - and you might hate me for this -
Not just a hug, not just a kiss
It’s not something you can earn ‘cuz we know we’re just walking mistakes
So who is the mysterious giver
Who gives and doesn’t take?
Well, in a word, it’s God
Someone who is and gives that one thing we long for: love

You might not be too sure of this God
Might just think he’s a being who doesn’t care whether you live or die
Afterall, it’s he just that “Pie in the Sky”?
Or maybe you don’t even think he exists
Where’s he been?
There are all these years he’s missed

Well, I’d say he’s been right here
Right beside you
Ready to lift you when you fall
Ready to answer when you call

The one thing I can’t stand
Is when people think God hates them
When he’s the very one who made them

And most importantly he has the one thing we claim is our destiny
He has love
You may laugh at me
‘Cuz maybe your vision of God is just blasphemy
A faculty of misconception that has made us too blind to see
Give me permission to show you the God who makes us free

How has God showed love, you ask?
Well, it’s certainly not just in the past
But I’ll give an example
The greatest example of all time
It’s something I think we’ve all heard of
But something we don’t like to click remind

Maybe you’ve heard of Jesus
How he died on a cross
But if you just had that information
We’d all be lost
‘Cuz what’s a dying man got to do with us?

First, I want you to think of the person you love the most
You don’t have to say it out loud - you can be as silent as a ghost
Tell me, would you die for this person?
Would you die for your family?
Maybe, probably

Now think about a stranger
A stranger you pass by every day
You never say “hey” never say “Are you okay?”
Never ask for their name
You pass them, never think much of them
Tell me, would you die for this person?
Would you die and make him free?
Maybe, probably… not

Back to the story, the one where you were caught
On wanting to know what happened, the reason, what not

So Jesus is being sent to die
He’s the most perfect being in the nation
And he’s being sent to die
They say he rose above his station
Claimed to be God - which he was
So he’s being sent to die

He didn’t struggle
Didn’t plead “why”
He didn’t send fire from heaven
He allowed himself to die

On the cross, he cried “Father forgive them”
He let the sins of the world succumb
He took the ending we deserved
He died without any a regretful word

He died
He lied -
In a tomb, for me, for you
For fools
For musty, rusty tools
For fake jewels
For people whose lives are as ***** as a barn’s manger
Jesus died for a stranger

That’s love
He loved first
His love is pure
We wander the earth
Searching for a cure

“I’m so close,” we say
“I have friends, family”
When that fails we pick a day to do drugs and look at *******

“I’m so close,” we sigh
“So close to the sky”

And yet we cry
‘Cuz the hole inside is gaping with every breath that arrives

We have one word for love
We love pizza
We love our pet
We fall in love with someone
And then we fall out of it

But real love, God’s love
It comes in one form
We may stop loving after the morn’
But God never stops
Is always on a roll

What are you longing for?
Do you even know?
I think you do
I think it shows

Maybe it’s love
Unconditional love
A love that makes someone die when someone else should of

That’s love
He loved first

All you have to do is ask for it
Say, “More of you, less of me. I believe.”
And you know the best part?
It’s free
This is a pretty long poem, but I hope you take the chance to read it anyway. Also, I filmed the spoken word and posted it on my Youtube channel. My channel is Horizon of Hope. Check it out!
Mar 2018 · 165
Something Behind Everything
Heather McCorkle Mar 2018
It's not just music
It's not just sunlight falling through the trees
People abuse it
The chance to be free

It's not just the moonlight
That make people fall in love
It's not just the heavens
It's not just above

There is something behind everything
There's a joy in every sorrow
There's a light in every wasted dream
And a reason for tomorrow

— The End —