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Jan 2017 · 755
quicksand
Victoria Capaldo Jan 2017
I met you,
and now it's like quicksand.
The more effort I exert
to resisting your pull,
the deeper into you I sink;
and I am left wondering
the intentions of your embrace,
even as the last inches of me
are consumed.
Jan 2017 · 277
changing
Victoria Capaldo Jan 2017
I stand on the chipped wooden deck
now darkened from the rain.
The snow has begun to melt,
water dripping between the cracks.
The sun greets me from behind trees
still bare for the last stretch of winter.

I recall the same trees,
dressed in gowns of green.
Birds soaring between branches,
singing sweet songs of summertime.

I recall these same trees,
as the crisp autumn air
pulled at their red and orange leaves,
and sent them back to the earth.

I recall the same trees,
**** with branches swaying,
as the first snow flakes drifted from the heavens,
leaving a cool white blanket beneath them.

Oh, how  q u i c k l y  time moves,
passing with such haste.

Oh, how I hope I am changing.
Jan 2017 · 188
questions for the mirror
Victoria Capaldo Jan 2017
hello eyes,
I am wondering what it is
about you that invites
that 40-something-year-old
to make comments about how seductive you are.
                    (nothing).
hello hair,
I am really a big fan
of your new style, but must ask
if you got it so he would tell you
how **** it looks when you spin your head.
                    (no, you did not).
hello lips,
I am interested to know
if the color you are wearing
was applied with intention for him
to tell you where he'd like to see it.
                    (no, it was not).
hello body,
I know you are so tired,
and you are here to work but I wonder,
if you are also here so that he can
graze his hands across you uninvited.
                    (no, you are not).
Jan 2017 · 599
toxic
Victoria Capaldo Jan 2017
I was  a l w a y s  told
that telling you what
you have done to me,
encouraged by the bottle
would  h u r t  you
more than it would  h e a l  me.
but today,
years later,
I still hear you hiss.
today,
years later,
I have felt enough hurt.
today,
years later,
I am  a m a z e d  at
just how much it's
healed me just to say
you're toxic.
Jan 2017 · 318
12/29/2016
Victoria Capaldo Jan 2017
encouraged by a few drinks
poured with a heavy hand,
and further by the blue eyes
to my left, my lungs empty,
belting songs that I can still hear
my father hum if I stop
and listen closely
Jan 2017 · 618
2:36 AM
Victoria Capaldo Jan 2017
sharp breathing
hearts beating
sweet sounds
escaping

lips dancing
over lips
over shoulders
over thighs

sharp breathing
hearts beating
faster, beating
harder, felt by

lips dancing
for seconds
for moments
for hours.
Jan 2017 · 287
small talk
Victoria Capaldo Jan 2017
today I had coffee
with an old friend
with whom I was never very close.
I wonder if it was
my longing for caffeine
or the time between us
that made our conversation
so sweet
Jan 2017 · 219
sundays
Victoria Capaldo Jan 2017
each sunday, a little girl sits with her father
and they make a to-do list
and she follows him with wide eyes
as he places a check
next to each task

each sunday, a young lady sits with her father
and they make a to-do list
and he follows her with dull eyes
as she places a check
next to each task

each sunday, I sit at the table
and I make a to-do list
and he watches over me with bright eyes
as I place a check
next to each task
Jan 2017 · 189
full
Victoria Capaldo Jan 2017
my heart is full
with love from friends,
laughter and memories,
polaroids and hard cider,
my heart is full
from long car rides,
walks through the city,
and Italian pastries,
my heart is full
from smiling faces,
drunken endevours
and expressions of love
my heart is full
Jan 2017 · 246
65
Victoria Capaldo Jan 2017
65
sixty-five miles per hour--

a pale blue sky with
cotton candy clouds overhead:
shades of pink and purple
new to my eyes.
all acting as a backdrop
for the city skyline to emerge before.
Jan 2017 · 176
fallen leaves
Victoria Capaldo Jan 2017
a breeze blows,
a single leaf,
freed from the branch to which it was bound,
is carried from everything it knew.

a breeze blows,
a single leaf,
taken away with such chance and coincidence,
is settled somewhere new.

a breeze blows,
the leaves,
thrown together with such chance and coincidence,
have created a new home.

the breeze has calmed,
the leaves,
now covered in snow and crunched by boots,
descend together.
Jan 2017 · 537
apocalypse
Victoria Capaldo Jan 2017
the sunset was so bright it seemed as though
there were flames roaring from the clouds.

he looked at her and said,
"I think the sun's exploded."

she looked around and said,
"I think the world is ending."

the bright colors overhead were enough
to warm their chilled skin once again.

she looked about and said,
"I suppose this is it, then."

he looked at her and said,
"I think I'm okay with that."
Jan 2017 · 840
freckles
Victoria Capaldo Jan 2017
the sun is peeking through the window,
too early for our sleepless eyes
red from the evening before.
you have two freckles on your right arm,
and I’ve pressed my lips against them both this morning.

we are tangled up in an armchair,
too small for our bodies to share.
your breathing heavy and warm,
your stubble pulls on my tangled hair
as I nestle against your chest and drift back to sleep.
Nov 2016 · 509
autumn
Victoria Capaldo Nov 2016
I find myself in limerence
With the sea of orange and green;
A forest ignited,
Admiring the ethereal beauty
That mirrors your own.

The sun warms your face.
Your smile warms mine.
Autumn,
An epoch of affection.
Autumn,
Do not leave so soon.
Oct 2016 · 226
good morning
Victoria Capaldo Oct 2016
When I see you for the first time each evening,
I don't ask you how your day was,
You don't ask what my plans are,
I don't speak of the weather,
We just walk out to your car.

When I see you for the first time each evening,
I offer you some earl grey,
You offer me a smile,
As if to say "good morning,"
And forget things for a while.
Oct 2016 · 390
wednesday
Victoria Capaldo Oct 2016
Today I disappear
beneath a tree
with my little black book
where I bury my feelings.
As people pass
I invite them to wonder
what it is I scribble
with my little black pen,
or to overlook me entirely,
to assume me a part
of the oak I am leaning against.
Oct 2016 · 572
you don't get it
Victoria Capaldo Oct 2016
you don't get it.
    
     until you've felt cold hands
         show up uninvited
     and overstay their welcome
          you won't get it.
     until somebody tells you to cover up
          on an eighty degree day
     to avoid attracting "attention"
          you won't get it.
     until you can't accept a compliment
         because you must fear
     your admirer's intentions
          you won't get it.
Oct 2016 · 199
monday night
Victoria Capaldo Oct 2016
Beneath a tree, just far enough from campus
that the only proof it existed
was the faint light pollution casted over us.
High on the aura left from the rain,
everything green radiating gratitude.
I let the ring you wear on your necklace roll around my fingers,
The metal cool to the touch, it's heat stolen by the autumn air.
Smooth across my fingertips.
I asked you where it came from,
but I already knew.
It was your sister's,
likely this cold when it was retrieved.
You collapsed into my arms,
perhaps taking comfort in knowing
that I could never distinguish tears from the rainwater
that seeped into my rolled up jacket sleeves.
Oct 2016 · 198
fear
Victoria Capaldo Oct 2016
"what do you fear most?"
I paused for a moment.
"I have a fear of failing,
Of letting people down.
I fear the consequences
Of letting people in,
Of letting my guard down.
I have a fear of losing the image
of success that I have created."
"Hm," he shrugged. "I really hate the dark."
Sep 2016 · 387
boston
Victoria Capaldo Sep 2016
shallow puddles on pavement
two pairs of brown boots
stained with rainwater
move quickly in step
one behind the other
sharp air beating
against bare faces
eyes watering
weaving between
strangers in a rush
to go nowhere
beeping horns
voices booming
a blur of faces
passing by often
not looking up
in and out of doors
under the lights
street lights
traffic lights
blue lights
green lights
illuminating the streets
reflected in the shallow
puddles on pavement
stirred by two pairs of
brown boots.
Sep 2016 · 368
motion
Victoria Capaldo Sep 2016
we are all in motion
and as dictated by newton's first law
we tend to stay that way
at moments when we feel still
the earth still barrels around the sun
at speeds we cannot comprehend.
we may trip and stumble,
we may fall and tumble
but we are all in motion.
Sep 2016 · 282
my story
Victoria Capaldo Sep 2016
my story is rolling through
expanses of grasses and
growing with the plants in Durfee.
My life is 28 stories of deep red brick,
reflecting over the campus pond.
My story is spelled out clearly in the 3.6
million volumes held in the W.E.B. Du Bois Library.
If you listen carefully,
my story can be heard amongst the
buzzing of people through dining commons,
lecture halls or in line waiting for the bus.
Aug 2016 · 230
purgatory
Victoria Capaldo Aug 2016
I don't love you,
I love how your eyes widen when your mind
latches to a piece of my art
and you crawl inside my head
and see it as I did.

I don't love you,
I love the concern in your voice when you
offer me a sweater as if
you feel the goosebumps rising
across my skin.

I don't love you,
I love the sincere laughter that erupts
out of you when I've said something
funny and your smile isn't enough
to express it.

I don't love you,
I love your timid demeanor that makes
me question just what you're thinking
and how you feel when you start
thinking about me.

I don't love you,
I love how you make me so curious
I write verses you'll never see
and in your mind I may not
even wander.
Aug 2016 · 785
law of attraction
Victoria Capaldo Aug 2016
we speak often of fate
of coincidence
and inevitable outcomes
of what is "meant to be"
of what is "destiny"
but maybe fail to credit ourselves
with attracting things
as beautiful as the ones
we feel blessed to receive
Aug 2016 · 576
bottled up
Victoria Capaldo Aug 2016
waves break in my chest
mountains crumble at my fingertips
thunder echoes in my skull
and like the clouds-
I
p                
       o              
            u          
                  r      
I empty myself
until n o t h i n g
remains.
Aug 2016 · 365
monday
Victoria Capaldo Aug 2016
some days are so remarkable
that we fail to notice
the delicate honeybees
as they buzz past,
or the graceful birds
as they soar nearby.

some days are so grievous
that the only beauty we find
are the buzzing honeybees
and their feathered friends
but we must smile because
that's okay, too.
Aug 2016 · 290
Brattleboro
Victoria Capaldo Aug 2016
I stand on top
of a parking garage
watching fog dance
across tremendous peaks.
Tranquil.

The mountains clothed
in robes of evergreen
an endless sea
of all things wild and pure.
Serene.

I wonder now
if my eyes grew so green
as they're meant to
explore places like these.
Content.
Aug 2016 · 440
kisses
Victoria Capaldo Aug 2016
at age six, my favorite kisses
      were the ones my father
      left on my eyelids on
      his way out the door
      early each morning
      so that when I woke up
      my vision would be clear.

      at age twelve, my favorite kisses
            were the ones my mother
            left on my head when
            she got out of bed, hungover
            as exhausted as I was
            from missing him
            each day.

            at age eighteen, my favorite kisses
                  are the ones some boys
                  leave on my neck when
                  I've had a few drinks
                  temporarily filling some void
                  I really wish
                  I didn't feel.

                        (I don't feel.)
Aug 2016 · 547
ink over lead
Victoria Capaldo Aug 2016
When I was younger
I favored pencil to pen
freed by my ability
to correct my mistakes
and start over again.

               As I've grown older
               I prefer ink over lead
               grounded by my ability
               to make some mistakes
               and mean what I said.
Aug 2016 · 691
red wine
Victoria Capaldo Aug 2016
I take a sip,
sipping s  l  o  w  l  y,
sitting still,
soaking it all in.

I take a sip,
sitting, s  l  o  w  l  y spinning
sipping, swaying,
stumbling, spilling.
Aug 2016 · 295
my apologies
Victoria Capaldo Aug 2016
today at work I apologized to the man
thirty years my senior
who makes ***** comments to me on the clock
because I did not want to visit him after hours.

to my surprise what scared me the most
wasn't the stare he shot me
or his visits on days that he wasn't scheduled
or the graze of his hands on my back

what instilled the most fear in truth
was the quickness which which I said
"I'm sorry"
as if I had bumped into him walking past.
Aug 2016 · 343
Sunlight
Victoria Capaldo Aug 2016
I was clothed with darkness,
my anonymity equated with security.

Her sunlight undressed me,
drew me out of my silence.

Every part of me I dared not show,
I broadcasted to the world.

Every corner of me unexplored,
she navigated her way through.
Aug 2016 · 137
Untitled
Victoria Capaldo Aug 2016
I am rolled up sleeves and ***** hands from a day spent working
I am gentle fingers, tender across your cheek

I am annoying optimism, admitting things will get better with time
I am the dark days where my soul is dragging heavy across the floor

I am worn shoes from wandering
and reluctant to leave.
Aug 2016 · 482
forget-me-not
Victoria Capaldo Aug 2016
this morning I came home
my hair in tangles
my makeup dark around my eyes
"how was your night?"

in truth, I forget
not in the sort of way that one might forget
her car keys on the counter,
but in the sort of way where you keep reaching
and nothing is there.

this morning he came home
his hair combed off of his face
and a fresh shirt on his back
"how was your night?"

in truth, he forgets
not in the sort of way where
his recollection is a blur,
but as if I were his car keys on the counter
as he headed out the door.
Aug 2016 · 202
vulnerability
Victoria Capaldo Aug 2016
at life's most difficult moments
we ask

how could this get any worse?

when faced with an onerous decision
we ask

how am I expected to choose?

but the worst is over
because nothing hurts more

than admitting it hurts.
Aug 2016 · 368
I Knew
Victoria Capaldo Aug 2016
I didn't know a true smile
a true laugh

Until he told me that he liked it.
Until he told me that it was infectious.
Until he told me that he loved me.

And when he did comment
On my baring teeth
And relentless laughter
And offered his admiration
My smile grew

Not because he said it
But because *I already knew
Aug 2016 · 290
Untitled
Victoria Capaldo Aug 2016
Certainly things exist
where we least anticipate
if we only bother to look.

But who would have guessed
such sublime things
could ever be neglected?

As if staring at the void
between two bright stars
you emerged,

And now having seen
my universe in this way
I could never live without you.
Aug 2016 · 323
Blank Page
Victoria Capaldo Aug 2016
An artist armed
with a blank page
is something
to be feared.

Equipped with raw emotion
and assessments of her world
and a vacant leaf
on which to unleash

her fury.

— The End —