Lani Foronda Sep 2014
I want to surround myself with photographs at my feet.
I want to explore and have adventures with my camera in hand.
I want to get up early in the morning to see the sun rise and see drops of dew on the grass.
I want to walk around at night and see the city lights shine.
I want to count the stars as I lie down on a field of grass and play Us Against the World.
I want to write in a leather notebook all my thoughts.
I want to have a bonfire and watch all my memories burn in the flames.
I want to curl up on the couch and read as the sun warms my skin.
I want to sleep at 2 am and wake up to the birds chirping outside my window.
I want to remind myself of why I fell in love with photography and writing.
I want to go back to makes me me.
May 22, 2012
Harly Coward Oct 2014
Bundled up in my big blue blanket,
Holding my heavenly hot cocoa,
Simmering as I'm sipping,
Nibbling on my noodles,

I gaze out the window,
Rain, rain, rain,
Grey clouds canvassing the sky,
Water falling creating rivers in the street,

The only thing I vow to accomplish today at all
Is finish season seven of Supernatural.
w r e c k a g e Jun 2015
i've seen the way your leaves fall
and i want to be the forest floor
violent prophet Apr 2015
Sorry I couldn't blanket you,
brother.
Sorry a million, billion times over.
My heart dies for you,
brother.
A million, billion times over.

Sorry I couldn't help you,
brother.
I can only lay here, drenched with salty rivers down my cheeks.
God, I am useless, help him please.
I'm sorry! I am sorry! I'm sorry!
I couldn't help you, my brother!

You are my flesh! my blood!
I will give you all!
But I have nothing at all!
I'm sorry I couldn't blanket you, my brother!

I'll do better.
Just hold on, my brother.
I will come to save you.
For my brother who is in need and I can't do anything to help him. Lord, please help him.
Abbie Crawford Jan 2015
I pull my blanket close to me, as if all hope is gone.
My lungs ache as I try not to cry.
My blanket doesn't quite cover my feet and the frustration overwhelms me.
It reminds me of trust. No matter how much we stretch it or pull it, it won't cover my feet.
It leaves us with cold feet.
Just like how you might trust someone and you think all is okay, but then something doesn't feel quite right and your feet are left cold.
About how you got the blanket to keep you warm and it doesn't really serve its purpose.
Awkward Dec 2013
My special blanket
It covers my mind

I'm used to my blanket
Like a small child I carry it everywhere

My mind is a dark place
But my blanket makes it not too bad

There was a time it wasn't there
& it was a nice break

But that was just a break
A holiday

Time to get back to work
My blankets in charge

It tells me when to eat, never
It tells me when to sleep, all the time

My blanket used to give me breathing room
But now, its suffocating me

My blankets choking me
& I've stop struggling

My mind has put the blanket in total control
I shut down

I push everyone away
Even the boy I love

I know it kills him
To see me this way

But my blankets my minds dictator
It calls the shots

I love you, I promise
But this blanket will kill me in the end

Like a blanket of snow
My depression covers me

& I've let it win
Brenda Jimenez Jun 2014
You're the answer that can never be found. You were my muse. I imagine you are this blanket caressing me, clinging to all the contours of my body. Oh, if you were here now, the sweet secrets I would whisper to you. The innocent cheek kisses. But you are not here, and now all that I am left with is this blanket.
Srishty Mittal Nov 2014
At the break of dawn,
I turn, mumble, wake and yawn;
And turn to see
You, in our blanket castle.

The dainty sunshine bathes your face;
Of your matted hair, the breeze makes a menace.
I play with shadows of you-
And them I hold captive, in our blanket castle.

Now, the garden swallows twitter on the sill
A familiar longing, in me they instill.
The pillow feathers, the tickling toes, the warm giggles-
I realize- are but memories of you- in our blanket castle.
Suggestions are welcome!
blythe Mar 2015
There was never a night
That I slept without thinking of you
Wishing your were right here with me -
It is the warmth you offer
That I always yearn for.

Now that you are finally here
No words can express
How happy I am
Wrapped in your warm presence -
A true good night rest.
Sounds romantic, isn't it?
But the truth is, it is not. This is dedicated to my thick fury pink blanket. :D I missed my blanket that much! Haha.
Our love was like that blanket fort,
your mom told you to take it down but we liked it so it stayed up.
Later you wanted another in the fort that was built for two and it came crashing down on top of us.
I decided to let it be and accept it's failure.
We tried to live with out it.
The blankets were still out and tempted us with every look, you finally asked me to rebuild with you.
After hesitation, I saw it brought you joy and that's all I wanted.
We had a tough time getting it to stay up on its own but once we did it wasn't bad, just not the same.
The inside was smaller and was much more cramped.
We realized how much it had actually changed though outside it looked roughly the same, and no matter what we did we couldn't get it back.
The first great fort was gone and it was time to take this one down, for it caused us too much frustration and too many tears.
Our blanket fort was taken down and it seemed like all that work was for nothing.
Yet now we can build something more permanent and learn from our mistakes.
Hopefully to each find that person who's blankets keep us warm.

w.j.w.k
I'm sorry this isn't a poem but it was something I spent a lot of time on and thought I should share.
Erin Mostowfi Apr 2015
In my bed
under the thick blanket,
it feels like I’m a monster,
wrapped in its skin,
breathing in the cold air of my domesticated forest.
ryn Sep 2016
Images extracted from
the tapestry of my dreams.
Sewn intricate...
Into a patchwork.

A quilt,
embroidered with lavish sequins and ornate beads.
Bringing forth fantastical motifs...
A dazzling display
upon the backdrop of my dreamscape.

Yet...
This mosaic of dreams
does not warm me so.
It never lasts.

They fall away like autumn leaves
come the dawning sun.
They get washed out and pulled into the tide,
as the waves beat upon the shore of wakefulness.
They fade into fragmented memories
that make no sense...
Incoherent and disjointed.

Eventually, they disappear...
For they do not belong
in a world of worldly things
and ticking clocks.
Their intangible and mismatched nature
render them inconsequential...
Naturally...
They get misplaced.

But I am stubborn.

I will fashion such a blanket.
One that skirts the boundary
of this realm and the other.

I will tailor it so...

So that...
I will sleep tonight,
swaddled tight and cocooned within its
glorious seams.
Tucked within the safety and warmth of
this blanket...
Woven immaculate...
Out of
worldly things and breathtaking dreams.
Helen Feb 2012
Fall surrendered, snow fell, and Ruth’s mother bought a blanket for her daughter’s seventeenth Christmas. It wasn’t a very expensive or spectacular blanket; it was extraordinary only in the fact that it hadn’t been picked mindlessly from a Christmas list but had instead been chosen lovingly and thoughtfully. She knew her daughter was forever chilly and would love the blanket’s fleece side, and she laughed to see that it had snaps just like the blanket she herself had spent her evenings cocooned in when she was Ruth’s age. So she wrapped the blanket more beautifully than the other gifts and set it gently under the tree.

The sun stretched, adults yawned, and Ruth opened her mother’s gift on Christmas morning. At the sight of the blanket, her grandmother’s eyes welled with memories of Ruth’s mother, looking almost identical to how Ruth looked now, wrapped up in her own blanket with the snaps. Ruth admired the gentle color of the blanket’s slick side and stroked the fleece side against her check before setting it on top of the rest of her gifts. She thanked her mother enthusiastically (she’d always been acutely aware of her reaction to gifts in front of their givers) and laughed good-naturedly at her grandmother’s hovering tears before hugging them down her face.

Naked trees shivered, frost iced the landscape, and at her mother’s suggestion Ruth spent the winter with the blanket layered beneath her covers. She nestled beneath it every night, but felt guilty when she couldn’t love it any more than anything else she had in her room, and she never snapped it around herself as her mother had done. She’d tried to wear it like that the day she was given the blanket, but it had made her feel uncomfortable and constrained. So instead she slept with the blanket spread flat beneath her sheets through that winter and into the spring.

Spring sprung, flowers bloomed and Ruth bounced for a moment on her toes before diving headfirst into his eyes. The weeks passed for her not in hours and days but in giggles and kisses, and she was surprised when her usually analytical, suspicious mind released her heart and allowed it to love recklessly and entirely. Making her bed one giddy morning, Ruth stroked the soft, fleece side of her blanket and then the slick, smooth side, and she thought of sweet picnics and stargazing from quiet hilltops. She folded the blanket and kept it in her car in preparation for any such spontaneity.

The moon beamed loudly, prom streamers fluttered, and Ruth danced with him wildly. Her classmates all felt just as immortal, and everyone laughed and spun and anticipated together. When they finally left the dance, Ruth’s body was still coursing with the night’s excitement, intoxicated with young love and the bright eternity that stretched before her. He brought her to a small hilltop where she spread the slick side of the blanket against the grass, and the two lay trembling there beneath the stars. Finally, he wrapped his mouth and his heart and his body around hers, and her innocence leaked slowly onto the fleece.

The moon slid drunkenly behind the hills, birds began to wake, and Ruth flew home on her own audacity, leading the dawn behind her. In the dim light, she noticed the garbage can her father had brought to the curb the night before, and she decided to spare her mother the pain of discovering the once soft fleece now stained with rebellion. Quietly, she lifted the lid and dropped the blanket inside. Its snaps scraped loudly against the can for an instant, but then the morning quickly swallowed the noise. By the time the lid banged back down, Ruth was rushing back to the house, her blanket already forgotten.
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