"absentmindedly" poems
I never thought
My lips could get bored,
But when you're not around
They most certainly do just that.
So I press them
Absentmindedly
Into the worn grey fabric
In a desperate attempt
To entertain.
Jun 6, 2014
Jun 6, 2014 at 2:18 PM UTC
i envy the cars that end up driving south.
the streetlights are tempting,
and blurred buildings tell me
“there’s other ways out”.
a handful of exit plans,
and empty destinations,
that i am reminded once again
in this world it is truly every man for themselves.
because if it were different
silence wouldn’t be my only company,
as i drive absentmindedly
hating every exit sign i see.
maybe the thought of having nowhere to go
is more humble
than the thought of having no one to give you a place to be.
Feb 8, 2018
Feb 8, 2018 at 11:09 AM UTC
When you
absentmindedly laugh at me with such warmth
It is then that I see your heart
When you
eagerly assume you'll read my most intimate words
it is then that I feel the truth
When you
matter-of-factly believe I'm amazing
it is then I realize I've always loved you
Jun 22, 2014
Jun 22, 2014 at 9:29 AM UTC
Dreams are imaginations that set you free
Dreams are the stuff that emancipate fettered hearts,
meandering absentmindedly
Dreams give hope and last till infinity
Dreams are a rope to cling on to sanity
For when the world hast been tarnished and depraved
dreams are but a cascadence and showers of grace
washing you gently ashore,
into another chimerical world
in which is only soon to fade
Mar 26, 2015
Mar 26, 2015 at 11:10 PM UTC
Oh you.
Sitting in the front of the classroom.
Perfection.
Perfection.
Perfection.
School royalty.
I want you.
And there you were,
smiling back at me,
talking to me,
making me think i had a chance.
I know you don't know me well.
I know I want to know you better.
Perfection.
Perfection.
Perfection.
I let my heart fall for you.
But you like her.
And she likes you.
And I know that I would never have a chance with you.
I never did.
I felt as though I'd found you.
But you played with my heart.
without a care in the world.
Absentmindedly.
Unknowing.
Uncaring.
I hate you.
I love you.
Spare me the heartbreak and just tell me so.
Even though I already know.
Perfection.
Perfection.
Perfection.
Nov 23, 2012
Nov 23, 2012 at 3:40 PM UTC
How wonderful it is, I say, to the retreating
yellow form of your feelings I mistook
For Infatuation, you’re a romance heckler
far and far away from
Accepting fruition within classrooms and
being labelled as an angel.
And it was within forbidden hell of
euphoria, I found
You nestled in the society’s psyche
neither content or calling
For help. Neither did you neglect the
pink spectacles of the society,
Even found yourself moulding and moulding
into a fungi green
That I could not recognize, within that
half-sanctum, half-oasis I found you
absentmindedly
Bathing in, you were already out of
its waters.
And I was no longer seeing you within
the dry desert or the sibilance
of my desires, but instead
in cement woodlands and
Within artificial communication and
Intimacy I gave willingly.
Now how does it feel, to have your
heart in one piece,
How does it feel to not use
whipped cream to fill in the
Cracked, salty sections of your
own ***** that,
Out of confusion, continues to
play its favorite song but
in all the wrong beats.
Somehow within cacophony I found
you, nestled, comfortable in
Bogus, fraudulent wings of a former
angel- who now weeps under our
Feet in theory- Somehow, somewhere,
I lost you within an epiphany
That reeked of bliss and pleasure-
Somehow, we end up losing
Twins of the heavens when all is well.
How wonderful.
How wonderful it is, I say, to your
lost, secretly-weeping figure
That I can’t tell whether transparent or
yellow your figure is.
But I keep speaking-
“Oh, how (falsely) wonderful it is-
To love the first angel I’ve set
my eyes upon-
“Oh, how (falsely) wonderful it is-
To lose an angel, no matter how
phoney, to a social heaven.”
- enriko. aug 5. 11:45pm
Aug 5, 2018
Aug 5, 2018 at 12:32 PM UTC
My first gLove
Lost on the bus
Absentmindedly
Or In the street
Parted in the snow
My stolen gLove
Taken whilst my back
Was turned
My fleeting gLove
Impaled by a stranger
In the street
On a spike
For all to see
My forgotten gLove
Left lonely
For too long
My worn out gLove
Threadbare
From years of absent
Emotion
My Christmas gLove
Ill fitting but warm
And worn
For a day
My lost summer
Lost summer
Lost summer gLove
Didn’t make the suitcase
Home
My gLove for life
Soft yielding
And strong
These are the gLoves
I have loved and lost
Feb 5, 2011
Feb 5, 2011 at 3:56 AM UTC
My nails are a mess,
but not a mess like a 2 week perfect manicure 'mess',
a mess like chipped old blue nail varnish
where I have picked away at it.
A mess like peeling skin
when anxiety from deep within
has resulted in me absentmindedly scratching
until I am awoken by crimson blood,
pooling on pale flesh.
I grab a cloth and sigh,
as I realise I will now have to hide
my hands from onlookers,
who will probably tut disprovingly
because I'm a girl you see,
and it's my duty to present myself beautifully.
To be perfect on the outside, but how can that be?
You see my hands bear the scars that are inside of me.
You can't just paint over scars and expect to be free.
Jul 10, 2015
Jul 10, 2015 at 7:10 AM UTC
There are ways in which I let myself indulge in your presence
And when I can pretend that were more than what we are
When I pretend to absentmindedly move my leg so it just so happens to touch yours
And I feel the burning of the contact even through the fabric that separate us
It feels as big of a declaration of love as screaming the words out loud would be
I find myself creating and following these intricate rituals to create contact when I know there shouldn’t be any
I pretend to forget things at your house just so that I may see you again even for a moment
Today I drank alcohol even though I knew that I shouldn’t mix it with my medications
I fell into a dream state where the world felt warm, and right and in that room alone with you I knew I belonged nowhere else
In that dimly lit room I saw you in the light that I’ve been avoiding seeing you in
Because when I looked at your hands they seemed so soft and like they would fit perfectly in mine with interlocked fingers
I saw your skin glowing and as I looked at the way you shined I found my self unable to concentrate because of how in love with you I felt
Jun 13, 2022
Jun 13, 2022 at 2:19 AM UTC
He drew a figure eight on my spine, absentmindedly,
and traced the nape of my neck with his fingertip when he said,
“You are beautiful to me.”
But the ellipsis in the silence spoke louder than he did, and the look in his eye was not born because I was lovely;
It was not because he loved me.
A thing too small for love-
But far too large to be lust;
Simple. Ugly.
He looked at me like he was hungry.
So sweetly he critiqued each curve, every line, blurring my edges with the images of every bent perception pulled from the mire of his mind;
and I
could not
satisfy
Pretty innocence diminished in the grip of his vice,
Pressed tight against my body, despised in dark eyes.
I am not the inhuman creatures you contrived in the middle of the night.
I am not the feminine expression of your ********* pride.
What a wicked crime,
to take a woman’s body and leave the woman behind.
Oct 23, 2017
Oct 23, 2017 at 3:29 PM UTC
_They say don't test the waters_
but absentmindedly dived
in blue and black
engraved with the souls that once adorned my body— bone crushed and barely breathing. Drowned in lovestruck, a ***** to an armor.
Sep 11, 2023
Sep 11, 2023 at 8:35 AM UTC
On the days I hate music,
I entertain silence,
in a sense.
I stifle one music and greet another:
Silence accompanied by the soundscape.
In my car, windows rolled up.
The world outside my vessel becomes dulled.
The silence I sing ain't so quiet;
tempo'd to the turn signal's metronome,
the droning hum of the engine,
the screaming world seeping through cracks and crevices
within the assemblymen's exquisite craftsmanship.
I hear these songs.
I roll down the window;
I hear the staccato shrieks of impatient cars.
I hear the bombinations of the road worker and his jackhammer.
I hear the droll of the cement truck drudging down the highway.
I hear the light treading of the jogger
making her way down the eternal sidewalk.
I hear coffee poured and pondered over in the coffee shops.
I hear grocer boys bag absentmindedly in the supermarket
(where Allen and Walt linger).
I hear silverware jingle in the busboy's bustling trays.
I hear dog's elation leaning out their master's passenger window.
I hear tires groaning over the hot sticky pavement.
I hear the wind carry the sunny tune like the steady conductor
guiding their orchestra across the threshold to the enthralled audience.
The wind carries the tune to me,
and I hum along.
The days I hate music
are the days I remember
why we make it in the first place.
I escape to and from the soundscape.
Aug 24, 2016
Aug 24, 2016 at 1:13 AM UTC
It's cold down here,
the white cushions and blankets do nothing
to safeguard my withering body
from Earth's cold claws.
Remember when we used to sit in Summer's sun?
Ankle deep in baked sand
as the waves lulled us.
Remember how you held my hand the first time?
Side by side, we sat on that empty beach
our hands absentmindedly digging towards the core.
It wasn't until I was distant that I felt your fingers,
timid at first,
then coiling like a grape vine 'round a fence.
You remember, don't you?
It hasn't been too long?
You told me,
in that raining back alley,
that you wouldn't let me go.
You told me,
as I held your hand like a lifeline,
that I was going to be okay.
I kept listening,
through the rain and your tears,
for the sound of running footsteps
and the clinking of money in my purse as he ran.
Did you catch him?
Will he never hurt anyone again?
Please tell me,
so that I may feel some warmth in eternity.
May 4, 2014
May 4, 2014 at 3:58 PM UTC
once we were close.
once our heads would rest on
each other's as we laughed
and you would absentmindedly
reach out and push my hair out
of my eyes.
we would sit on the floor and I
would hug my legs to my chest and
you would absentmindedly drape
your arm over my knees and I
would cross my ankles over yours
and our fingers would lock
like children's, in a fairy tale.
we had a fairytale friendship.
you used to believe in fairies.
every once in a while you would
look me in the eye and I could tell
by the sparkle of depth, the richness of
brown, that you were going to say
something serious
'I'm glad we met
me too, friend. I'm glad I met you, too.
mm. what if I had never said that.
you'd regret it.
that's why I'm glad you're you
because I wouldn't have.
but I wanted to.
repeating after you
might not have been enough.
but every once in a while even you
would surprise me and you would
glance me over and hug me close
I'm glad you exist
I'm glad you exist too,
I'm glad for you.
like a child in a fairytale
stuttering over words, fumbling,
blind kitten
echoing you
with the hope
that you will hear the echo
in everything you say
so that when I am
forgotten you can catch
my voice on the breeze,
the echo, and you can remember
to pull down our dusty
fairytale storybook
from the shelf.
forgetting is the worst part
May 2, 2013
May 2, 2013 at 5:46 PM UTC
Absentminded speech.
You had taken the scissors from the basket
in the darkroom, they were just
still in your hands, the ones
not covered in rust.
It was absentminded, that part
is important. Just absentminded,
like the way you'd play
with her hair or pretend not
to care,
like the way you'd talk with
your hands even when the
darkness spoke louder. The way
you'd nudge me, a "don't move"
elbow, to let me know you'd
dropped your film and I shouldn't
step for fear of stepping on it
like the shadows did.
I absentmindedly twirled a pen,
and you absentmindedly looked
down again and again,
scissors open, scissors closed,
running your fingers over
the little ***** between the blades
as I ran my fingers
over a little ink drawing I'd made.
You absentmindedly followed
my eyes with your own, and then
threw absentminded to the smoke,
up and out the window and gone,
and the smooth blade up and down
your arm.
It wasn't sharp. It couldn't even
cut the film. That's how you'd
dropped it in the first place.
Still watching my eyes, my dawning worry.
Oh, you. Ignorance reduced me
to child and pity before your
knowing eyes, but what do.
You know me, I know you.
A deliberate story now (absentminded
can't be filtered out of the smoke anymore),
of a girl you used to know.
Something to do with little screws
in every pocket of every
long-sleeved shirt she owned.
They had to be from something cheaper,
you mused. Mindedly.
Scissors don't come in bulk.
Little screws. Not razors, not knives.
Little screws.
You thought out loud, but it wasn't
thought. It was speech. It was
words you already knew.
Where'd they all come from?
You asked questions to give me
the answers.
I reached out for those ****
bright green plastic scissors
that wouldn't cut a piece
of film in a darkroom, because
fear gives light great powers.
You smiled at the anxiety in my
eyes. You chose then to stumble
upon the answer. (It wasn't scissors.)
To relieve me, you meant.You
meant to share without telling,
to lighten my head and dissipate
the ignorance like your
absentminded smoke.
You knew a girl...
But when you put knowledge
in this mind it gets picked up
and circled around and around,
centripetal acceleration, exponentially
flying, so fast, so high, what do I
do with it there. I build it up.
It tears me down.
I scanned your wrists for months.
I watched you pull your wallet out
of your pocket, checking the floor for
little screws.
You knew, ****** You knew
your wrists would stay smooth
as a scissor blade, smooth as
darkness. You gave me the story
deliberately, but you gave me the
answer absentmindedly.
You didn't mean to.
You gave me the worry,
you gave me the thought.
You didn't tell me where to find
a ******* screwdriver.
Dec 25, 2013
Dec 25, 2013 at 11:22 PM UTC
"That's it! I'll take it to the scissors myself!"
Mangled, wrangled, tangled mess,
meandering tendrils coil and cross, clump.
Split ends,
knots so impossibly tied the eagle scout is left bewildered,
sun damage: fried, frizzled, frazzled, frayed.
Broken teeth in a gasping comb,
choking brushes enveloped in the furling mess,
hairspray, fruitless, face it:
(Another) Bad Hair Day.
"That's it! Today's the day!"
The call is made, the appointment scheduled,
you sit and wait.
X's mark the calendar, the day is nigh,
your do's judgement day is at hand.
It's time to settle this.
The day before, you wake up,
absentmindedly getting dressed, drudging through routine,
mirror's the last thing you see.
Crusty eyes suddenly open wide,
as split ends seal and knots unfurl,
sun damage heals and combs sing ceaselessly.
The day is met with a new life,
and the dark days of yore seem like a past life,
as this sunny day seems like all there is.
You laugh at what now appears to be such trivialities,
"Twas a bad hair day! And merely so!"
You allow yourself such a shallow deception.
Your hand grabs the phone, your fingers make the call,
your voice makes the cancellation--
"How could I have been so foolish to resort to such measures?!"
You hang up and scoff at yourself,
a hearty laugh in jest at such hastiness,
tossing and swishing your luscious mane to and fro.
You allow it to slip through your fingers,
on the cusp of the cure,
as the bad hair days truly outnumber the good (you know it to be so).
For the next day will come--
You'll greet the mirror with that heart-wrenching sigh,
in visible anguish at the chaotic mess that encroaches upon your head.
Don't let a good hair day fool you;
make the call.
Jun 2, 2016
Jun 2, 2016 at 12:13 AM UTC
you’ve changed, says tinkerbell
as she strokes peter’s tanned face
was that wrinkle there before?
she pokes it, her tiny finger
getting engulfed in the folds of skin
did you dye your hair? i like the colour
you’ve grown taller too, and i
suppose your shoulders have become
b r o a d e r
peter flicks tinkerbell away
and absentmindedly uses his hands
to sweep the dust off his new
leather jacket and levi’s jeans
peter tells tinkerbell that the
five years he spent in the real world
was infinitely better than being cooped
up in neverland, and that he found a new
girl to replace wendy, her name’s hannah
peter says he might leave forever
tinkerbell buzzes around anxiously
why? she asks peter
what about me and the lost boys?
we can’t all stay young forever, peter
scoffs as he ties the laces of his new
converse sneakers, a gift from hannah for
their second anniversary
peter kicks up sand as he walks away
we all have to grow up one day
we can’t stay here forever in a fairytale
remaining as stagnant characters
who only know happy endings
follow me tinkerbell, and we can learn
about the harsh realities of life and
bear the scars which indicate our
brush with the cruel and painful
truths outside of our little bubble
tinkerbell disagrees, i don’t want to
grow up, we’ve always been fine here
why do you want to change now?
i don’t want to leave this fairytale behind
i like it here with you, i like it here where
everything has an happy ending
are you leaving me because
you found someone better to
spend your days with? is that it,
that i’m not good enough for you anymore?
peter shakes his head no, that’s not it
tinkerbell, you know very well i still
cherish you, but i want to live now,
live a life of ups and downs, and grow
up and learn as i fall and get up again
it’s a special experience, and avoiding it
gets you nowhere, like how we are now
farewell, tinkerbell, i shall leave now
everyone has to grow up someday,
and it’s time for me to do so
tinkerbell watches as peter leaves
for the final time, and her heart sinks
maybe peter was right, he did make sense
even a little fairy has to grow up too
but growing up is scary, and tinkerbell is scared
it’s a scary place out there, she thinks
a miniscule being can’t possibly survive there
tinkerbell flies back home in the heart of neverland
to safety and security, to where she could remain
young, forever
((growing up was always a terrifying concept too foreign for tinkerbell to grasp))
Nov 30, 2013
Nov 30, 2013 at 2:20 PM UTC
He cups the bowl
With a pocket bible,
Pulls in a few more short gasps,
Trying to fill every last inch
Of the fleshy air sponge in his chest.
He rises up, as his lungs expand,
And puts down the pipe,
Caressing the tiny bible in his hands,
Absentmindedly.
He smiles...
A gray-white rose unfurls from his lips.
He slides the pipe across the table,
I turn it down...
I am only twelve.
"Suit yourself"
He says...
His voice like vaseline on silk...
A hair mussing, makeup smearing,
***** tearing voice.
I think,
*'Man, I would **** to have a voice like that.'*
"Me...I love the stuff. That's what its all about."
He says.
"That's what what's all about?"
I stammer.
He smiles,
And I shiver involuntarily,
As if waves of cool radiate from that smile.
This guy was a small town demigod,
Mind you.
The coolest car,
The blackest leather jacket.
He was the front man
For a local rock band,
And all the girls wrote his name in their notebooks,
With little hearts, and declarations of their love.
"Life, man, life.
If you like killing, or kissing,
Smoking or ********
Do it.
If you do you will stay loose.
You stay loose , you be cool.
You be cool, the world is gravy,
You dig?
Life is a custom Mustang
Made just for you.
You got to ride that some of a *****
Until you run out of gas.
So always take the roads
that lead to things you love,
And forget what the road signs say...
Make your own detours."
Four months later,
He was killed in a car wreck.
He was drinking wild turkey,
While getting road head.
They found a half ounce of grass
In his hip pocket.
The girl walked away with nothing worse
Than a broken arm.
They couldn't repair the red and pink glass shredded mess of his face...
His funeral was closed casket, and I didn't go.
The next day I spent the money I was saving
For a ten speed, on a used, Washburn acoustic guitar.
After all...I already had a set of wheels, that I was born with.
I hopped behind the wheel that day,
And since then, I have lived my life, my way.
I've had enough downs,
To prove my decision making skills are flawed,
But I followed my joy, and the things I love,
And I have no regrets...
Hell, I'm still alive,
And I ain't ran out of gas yet.
Aug 18, 2012
Aug 18, 2012 at 5:50 AM UTC
let me teach you
how to dance
to the song that is my heartbeat
first; lay your head upon my chest
stay silent, unmoving, hold your breathe
nothing?
no, there it is
steady, unyeilding, comforting
but as I feel you slowly exhale
it’s tempo accelerates
of course you induce that
‘butterflies in my stomach’ effect
if I was talking, I would’ve stuttered
as your fingers absentmindedly
drew patterns on my wrists
i could feel the hairs rising
my body calling out to your touch
gentle, calming, peaceful
and when I peak at you
your eyes are closed, relaxed
savouring the moment
our pulses meld together
and dance a tranquil tango.
Aug 10, 2018
Aug 10, 2018 at 2:52 PM UTC
"Go home," you said
You didn't think twice
Home is just another word in your vocabulary
Home is mom and dad
Home is where the heart is
Just another word
But it isn't
There is so much meaning
In those four letters
I think on it
And I wonder
Where is my home?
Where do I get that warm, comfortable feeling
Of being surrounded by loved ones
Filled with love
Laughing freely
Home, where you climb in bed and dream
Sweet dreams
But not before the Monster Spray
To protect your innocence
Wake up and feel safe
Home, where you fit in
And you have no fears
No insecurities
I have no such place
So where, exactly, do you suggest
That I go
When you so rudely, so absentmindedly
Demand that I "Go home"
Oct 21, 2012
Oct 21, 2012 at 10:55 PM UTC
Take a drink everytime you find yourself absentmindedly hurting yourself (stop itching your scalp it isnt itchy blood its bleeding)
Take a drink everytime you can't get out of bed
Take a drink everytime you consider suicide (wouldn't be this tired anymore sleep sleep sleep sleep sleep)
Take a drink everytime you eat too much
Take a drink everytime you eat too little (I can see my ribs again bones bones bones bones bones)
Take a drink everytime you become unhealthily attached to someone
Take a drink everytime you feel alone (my friends don't seem to call anymore forgotten forgotten forgotten)
Take a drink everytime you isolate yourself from your friends
Take a drink everytime you hate your body (Its only flesh after all skin and bones bones and skin)
Take a drink everytime you compare yourself to your father
Take a drink everytime you can't turn off traumatic past experiences (when will they stop playing re-runs this show makes me sick get off of me get off of me get off)
Take a drink everytime you really are becoming your father
Take a drink everytime you blame yourself for not saying "no" or "stop" (he wouldn't have listened anyway too weak too weak too weak weak)
Take a drink everytime you forget to shower
Take a drink everytime you remember your ex too fondly (I am not your toy anymore I exist exist I do)
Take a drink everytime you acquire unhealthy coping mechanisms
Take a drink everytime you bottle things up (my therapist doesn't need to know how traumatized I am dont touch me dont touch me dont touch me dont)
Take a drink everytime you sleep the day away
Take a drink everytime something little sets you off (you just spilled some water, relax water water waterwater)
Take a drink everytime someone uses you to their advantage
Take a drink everytime you consider quitting your job (who needs money when you can be dead dead dead dead dead)
Take a drink everytime you consider dropping out of college
Take a drink everytime you get false hope that you'll get better (it always ******* comes back it always ******* comes back it always ******* comes back it always ******* comes back)
Feb 27, 2018
Feb 27, 2018 at 2:02 AM UTC
Whimsical youth
absentmindedly fell -
cliffside,
abruptly.
Love to the stars,
oath taken to stone;
to help you,
instruct me.
~
Stillness the moorland
of cherry pie kiss,
unwilling
fruition.
Patience, wise virtue
foremothers instilled,
jeune fille
in submission.
~
Tame was the Beast
at the mountain's heart deep,
lethargic,
sleepwalking.
Wild was the Princess
in her dreams of pink sweet
sins, secrets,
unspoken.
~
Long were the years
under fallen rocks over.
Now doubtlessly
older.
Black was one night,
set her sadness alight,
but the ash left
her colder.
~
Monsters awakened,
set the footpath ablaze,
hopelessly
grieving.
Freedom I call
you, trying to persuade
you, truth
unforgiving.
Mar 18, 2021
Mar 18, 2021 at 7:03 PM UTC
fingers- i landed my boat here, when i first met you. your fingers twirled together absentmindedly and they still do and i'm still get lost whenever i wander onto the dark beaches.
hands- i discovered these peninsulas when you pulled me along on your adventures after I landed on the beaches and they were so rough yet so wonderful and i honestly want to get lost here more often.
wrists- i found these a bit more on the mainland, still flanked by water and they were so narrow that i was afraid i would fall off into the water and i wonder how those thick colorful bracelets stay on.
cheeks- one day i wanted to go on a hike so i decided to climb up these steep mountains and whenever something beautiful sailed by you these beautiful red begonias popped up and i'm a little upset that i didn't make them pop up but i'm glad they didn't bloom around me because i got to see the natural red hills and i got to love them.
but i made a mistake because i never went south and maybe i would have gotten lost somewhere else more beautiful but if i went south, i wouldn't have found the beautiful pools that some call your eyes and that would've been the real loss.
May 10, 2014
May 10, 2014 at 10:51 PM UTC
Do you ever hear a song and less than a minute in, you already know it’s going to be your favorite?
You were that to me.
And much like a song, from you I could not flee.
You were chords and melodies I had never thought of putting together: and you were beautiful all the same.
If only you knew the way your heartbeat has become my favorite sound.
And much like the song, I could listen to you over and over again and each time fall more and more in love.
Because in a world of chaotic noise, you were my lullaby.
I would forever hear you in bits and pieces of other songs,
I would hum your tune absentmindedly as I go down a street I once walked with you,
And if I ever forget, I am sure my mind will wander to the songs we once made and remember,
Remember the beats and sounds that brought me to you,
and even if the melody has faded or become outdated,
I will always want to press repeat.
Dec 9, 2015
Dec 9, 2015 at 1:20 AM UTC
i'm not impervious to the fact that
if the universe allows
i will grow old and die one day
i know that my skin will draw back from itself
the way picasso drew on canvas
and vines and creases will work their way
into my once fair and smooth skin
but when i go i want long flowing white hair
that brushes my back gentle as a feather
and lingers behind me like a second goodbye
hair that i can twirl into knots absentmindedly
an braid while bored in church
i want ink stains on my hand from the spilled
ink of writing poetry and stories
notebooks filled with the words that came
out of the sharp movements of my hands
and my hands
i want hands soft but worn
like my mother's favorite winter coat
i want hands that have held and let go
i want hands that know what the hell they're doing
i want toenails painted the most obnoxious
shade of red and mascara packed on like a
suitcase going on a trip to heaven
i want to be that old lady with the cats
because, let's face it, we all know i'm already
that old lady with the cats
they'll be named names from literature and plays
and i'll hope their names match their counterparts
but if they don't i'll love them anyways and
hold them with these hands that will have held
onto so many things before
when i go i want to have lived
and i want to have lived really really good
Mar 22, 2018
Mar 22, 2018 at 10:48 AM UTC