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Vanessa Grace Nov 2017
my heart beats
  heavily,
in my frame
whilst melancholy
  tingles,
at my brain
the memories of a younger life
  seize me
and take me far
away,
where innocence was
becoming,
and I was not
to blame
v.g

Another birthday has come and gone. Adulthood is not all it seems.
Vanessa Grace Oct 2017
When he came around
I thought perhaps he would
Fill in
My sunken spots,
The hallow parts of my being
That had kept me from standing
Upright

But he was no builder
And our love was no
plaster
And so I resolved to crumple
Like ash upon his frame,
Until it was just him standing there
With the memories that remained.
v.g

Halfway between a thought and a dream.
Vanessa Grace Mar 2017
God blessed the world when He made Man,
and I feel I know both of them
when I hold onto this one's hand
He sleeps like a child upon my chest
soft breath sending shivers
up and down my neck,
and I marvel,
and marvel, and
marvel
at a creature such as this.

He fits me, he suites me, he truly does—
in an instant, with just a glance at him,
I come a bit more undone.
His skin a sheen beneath moonlight
where I can truly see veins,
a blue network beneath his forearm,
holding me gently to his frame;

I would have never even considered
how it could fit with mine
or how we could even begin to claim
such a space between us.

And yet, here we are— and yet, here I am
tiny and misshapen,
cuddling a man who has taken my heart to a place,
in this tiny little bed,
where I know love resides.

The futon creaks, the fan swivels on,
and the icon candle burns brightly
in the corner.

... and here I am with a Man
who holds me so delicately in his sleep
that he would actually have you believe
that I'm the precious one.
v.g

Okay, so wow.
It's been a long while since I've sat down to write anything, mainly because of graduation deadlines and wedding planning, but I did it anyway. Huzzah!
I see a lot of areas where I could potentially build and improve upon this poem, but as for now, I simply want to remember how it felt that night to hold my fiance  (or rather, how he held me,) before he had to return across the country for a few months to work [#navylife]. That week was probably the most blissful time of my life... but then again, so is every visit with him.
Vanessa Grace Oct 2016
There are words, swimming in her head
           an aquarium of emotion
some words are nice, but others fight,
           and cause a stir within the ocean

There are words, soaring through her head
           headed north now and then
They escape dark skies, and flee her mind,
          and hope to make it home again
v.g
Vanessa Grace Aug 2016
Sometimes I'll read great literature and think:
that perhaps, poetry is a theatrical
(but necessary) byproduct
of our excess emotion—
created by broken people
who simply feel too much,
in too little of a space.
From the largest and grandest of stanzas
to the petite one-liners,
we pour our feelings into words
and our words into emotion,
and give them the context
to take on a brand new meaning.
We  adorn our anguish in sweet, silken lines,
our passion in soft, breathy rhymes;
our anger shows in scribbles
and taut similes,
our joy in the personification
of the very things we wish
could come alive.
From all corners of all nations we grow
knowing, quite profoundly,
that our feelings are meant to mean something:
Poetry is not tissue in our lives
to be used and tossed away;
rather, poems mark the seasons of ourselves
that are to be remembered and enjoyed.
Written on notepads and parchment,
from wide open spaces to
that dingy apartment,
our words lie in wait for us
so that at our lowest point,
our words may help remind us
to be *human
v.g
Vanessa Grace Aug 2016
I can make you love me
this is something I can swear
all I need is a moment here
to run my fingers through your hair
I can laugh
at all your cheesy
jokes
the ones a little ******,
the ones a little
old
I can lean against your shoulder,
take turns as we blow
smoke
up, up above our heads
and past the giant
oaks
I can be charming
and kiss you before I
leave—
kiss you until your weak
and shaken in the
knees
I may not be beautiful
but I've got a trick
up my
sleeve;
a trick that involves assuming
love is quite naive

*and in that case,
so are you.
v.g
Vanessa Grace Jul 2016
Separation does weird things to the body
causes a continental divide
between the mind and the heart
This divide-- it causes doubt
and it distorts three truths
for three lies.
It shifts a millimeter each moment
till one day, there's been an earthquake
and you no longer can tell fantasy from reality
due to the irrevocable damage.
You realize
the memories aren't really memories--
they are perceptions of events gone wrong
and this cataclysm of love allows it.
You see, the sweetness of words whispered
now have an underlining bitterness
now have a certain edge
that makes you wonder if they were ever true
And now you notice, far too early,
the warmth from their embrace
just... leaves, too quickly.
they just don't hold on like they used to.
its ever so subtle, but ever so notable,
and its enough to make you worry
about the things you see.
And finally, you both begin to see...
.... that separation
does weird things to the body.
It causes a continental divide
between the mind and the heart
and the realization that there's no healing
when you're miles and miles apart.
v.g
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