"clarisse" poems
I walk along this street again
Chatting up a lone fireman
I tell the psychiatrist I'm just fine
As I taste rainwater like wine
And somehow it's a crime to go walking
Somehow we're strange for talking
I wish people would take me seriously
Instead of reducing me to an unbalanced teen
And maybe if they questioned just for a second
They'd see why Poe and Dickens beckon
So what if I hate school, screens, and parks?
I have my thoughts, books, and walks in the dark
Oct 11, 2016
Oct 11, 2016 at 8:20 AM UTC
i wanna dive head first
into a map of the night skies
trapped inside our four-walled room;
maybe this is where black holes go to die
and they can all stare back at me —
swallowing a chaos of sobs
and a chaos of all your favorite songs;
regardless, i’ll dive into the night skies,
or what it used to be
and name these stars – the ones that remain anyway,
after you.
after me.
after us;
at least they take a long time to die –
long enough for flowers to droop and fall apart
on weeds and lonely epitaphs.
and dear, i hope heaven is holding you closer than i could ever had;
tell me, did you, like sylvia
write suicide notes and call them poetry?
and god do i hope that heaven is holding you so close,
you forget all of the world’s sadness
you once took for your own.
out here, the calendula falls and
my eyes mourn over petal-covered graves
poems cannot hope to beautify.
Jul 9, 2020
Jul 9, 2020 at 7:59 PM UTC
The girl was walking in the center of the sidewalk with her head up and the few drops of rain falling on her face
Letting the motion of the wind and the leaves carry her forward
Her Dark eyes were so fixed to the world that no move escaped them
A kind of gentle hunger that touched over everything with a tireless curiosity
She whispered
I love to watch people too much
No one has any time for anyone else
Sometimes I ride the subway all day and look at them
I just want to figure out who they are and what they want and where they’re going
They say I’m antisocial but it all depends on what you mean by social, doesn’t it?
I don’t think it’s social to get a bunch of people together and then not let them talk
They run us so ragged that by the end of the day we can’t do anything
Everyone I know is either shouting or dancing around like wild or beating up one another
People don’t talk about anything
Isn’t that funny and sad?
They make me say things; they want to know what I do with my time
And sometimes, I tell them, I like to put my head back, like this, and let the rain fall in my mouth
The rain was thinning away
And then Clarisse was gone
Everything was empty
It was something about not seeing her in the world.
-M
Mar 8, 2018
Mar 8, 2018 at 11:44 PM UTC