"freckle" poems
termites crawl in my stomach; you
are my disarray, o soft and golden -
take the curves of my feet, the
freckle on my lip, and
hang me on your wall, you
compel my speechlessness.
i'll keep guessing, guessing
and unguessing.
i am up all night over this.
Jan 6, 2015
Jan 6, 2015 at 10:09 AM UTC
You should be here with me
My heart is as empty as the side of the bed that you used to sleep on
And my life's crashing harder than the waves on the shore like when you first kissed me
And I'm falling harder and faster into loneliness than I was when I fell for you
And I know there's no stopping this
But you should be next to me
Kissing each freckle on my arm and tracing "I love you" into my palm because each letter deserved it's own recognition for it made up a larger picture
And you should be next to me
With my head leaning onto the very shoulder I spent entire nights crying into
You should be beside me
But I guess this was all besides the point
And now you're next in line for a new girl
I just wish you would give me a next chance
Apr 29, 2015
Apr 29, 2015 at 12:24 PM UTC
You told me that you have
Over one million hair follicles
And I believe you.
I do.
But, if it’s okay, I’ve never counted
To one million before.
I heard it takes a really long time,
But after I count all of the spots
The hair grows out of you,
I want to count all your freckles
And connect them like constellations.
You’re just like the universe to me
And each freckle is a star.
There are lots of stars we can’t
See with the naked eye,
But I want to find those too.
If that’s okay.
Dec 14, 2014
Dec 14, 2014 at 1:33 PM UTC
Don't ever fall in love with a poet
because they will indeed admire and watch your every move
they will write about how the pen marks on the side of your palm when you write
don't ever because they will trace
every single freckle you have on your face and
write about the color of each and every one of them and
describe how they smile so brightly under the sunlight
they will want you to want to know every little thing about them
even if it's just what hand they write with and want you
to be wondering why they write with that specific hand when in
reality it doesn't even matter
the poet will watch the way you dig
your eyes onto that book and your small quick remarks onto the 26 letters all crumpled together and will know that everyday at 5:28 p.m. you smile
they will look deeply into your eyes
to see if they can at least take a little
peak of your soul and they will write
about you like if you were the only
thing they see good in this world
they will want to know what you think
about when you look at them and
see if you also count each and
every freckle and hope and write
that you do but they will
love you endlessly and they will
show you that they love you and only you
but don't date a poet if you aren't
capable to watch them and
admire their imperfections
when they sleep late at night
beside you.
j.f
Apr 15, 2014
Apr 15, 2014 at 8:07 PM UTC
do you recall
the crunch beneath our feet
a gesture small
as we ambled down the street
dirt and gravel
I felt pebbles through my shoe
I unravelled
When I looked at you
Where did you come from
Are you real?
Is this how I’m supposed to feel?
A dreamgirl
In a dreary place
I’ve counted every freckle on your face
Sunlight peaked through maple branches
in such a tranquil way
missed chances to make advances
I always hoped you'd stay
a fork in the road ahead
we went different directions
I used many different methods
to try and snag your attention
Where did you come from
Are you real?
Is this how I’m supposed to feel?
A dreamgirl
In a dreary place
I’ve counted every freckle on your face
you never seemed to notice
you just stared ahead
heart bloomed as if a lotus
while I tugged at a loose thread
sometimes I'd begin to speak
but choked upon my words
so I walked next to you without a peep
and together watched the birds
Where did you come from
Are you real?
Is this how I’m supposed to feel?
A dreamgirl
In a dreary place
I’ve counted every freckle on your face
it's odd and super subtle
the synchronicity
insignificant and pointless
yet means the world to me
quiet walks every afternoon
past the garage and dead leaves
we watched the starlings courtship
do you remember me?
Where did you come from
Are you real?
Is this how I’m supposed to feel?
A dreamgirl
In a dreary place
I’ve counted every freckle on your face
Feb 26, 2018
Feb 26, 2018 at 2:29 AM UTC
To the girl who will one day take my last name
I want to tell you that you look beautiful,
Beautiful like in the way the summer sun bends around the north pole because it refuses to set its constant and lasting
Just like the way my heart jumped the moment i saw you for the first time and it has refused to come down
Everytime since, when i see you, although i have never been much of a dreamer, i daydream about all the things i want to do to you like...
Make you smile... or blush
So that my daydreams will have the perfect backdrop of love to memorize your every freckle, and then i want to drink the smile i put on your face beause i know it is the only thing that can quench my thirst
I want to tell you that I want to learn ballet, just so i can catch you everytime you jump and make sure that ill never let you fall... unless it's for me...
I want to learn to draw
Because I want to draw my way into your life, van gogh my way into your past present and future, i want to spend my whole life with you, and on your dying day i want to roundhouse kick death for even thinking of taking you away from me
But most of all i want to make you... happy
Happy in a way that is unexplainable
Like why do birds suddenly appear everytime you are near
It would be to easy to say that just like me they long to be close to you
And i want it to be unexpected like when you fall asleep after a long day
Slowely at first and then it engulfs you completely
I want to tell you that I want you to be able to feel the sunlights warm caress even on the darkest of days
And on days when you can't see the stars in the night sky
I will cut stars out of my paper heart
Even though they always seem to rip when held in hands that aren't careful enough
and then I want to hang them from your ceiling
So you will always have something beautiful to look at
And if you would just notice me I promise that I can love you like that...
But instead when I finally noticed that you caught me staring at you about 15 minutes ago... I opened my mouth and instead of all the soliloquies that dance through my head whenever you saunter into a room all that came out was hi.....
I think it was a good start.
Apr 6, 2014
Apr 6, 2014 at 1:55 PM UTC
I swore that I knew you
just like the back of my hand
every blemish, every freckle,
every scar, was you
But now
My blemishes begin to even out
My freckles, rearranging themselves
And any old scars are fading.
Jun 15, 2014
Jun 15, 2014 at 12:53 AM UTC
They say be skinny but not too skinny. They say be girly and lady like, for that is pretty.
They say be curvy but only in the right places.
They say always have a smile on your faces.
Who made such rules?
Who were these people so cruel?
Why can't I just be me?
Slowly in my head the truth starts to creep.
They too were never accepted for who they were.
They too were shamed for every freckle, every curve.
It is not their fault entirely, now I see.
They just don't want us to face the hate they had to feel.
In the process of getting the world to like us though, we started hating our own bodies.
Taught to be somebody's instead of somebodies.
Is it alright that they won't let us be ourselves?
Shouldn't they know better since they've been through it themselves?
The world before them changed them, got into their head.
But we must not give in, or the real us will be dead.
Jun 28, 2019
Jun 28, 2019 at 4:00 AM UTC
I find that
Freckles seem to make the strangest shapes.
I find that I lose myself
With the connect the dots game
On your face.
I count three on your neck
Below your soft forest of hair.
A pointed constellation.
I imagine inside the freckle triangle,
It says: kiss here.
And kiss you I do.
I find that
Your freckles tell me where to travel with my lips.
I am going down down down
And now there's goosebumps.
Ah, the land is not fallow yet.
Further and further.
One dot, two dots, small dots, big dots.
I find that
My mouth is growing warm with
The taste of your pastures
Enveloping it.
I am hungry.
I find that
The land further down is bare.
A desert.
No more freckles to follow.
I look up for the first time,
And there you are,
Gasping for air.
My turn.
Nov 3, 2012
Nov 3, 2012 at 6:46 PM UTC
My parents gave me a pink childhood framed with lace and luxury--
but a black stain has spread there, deep as the amount of time
I’ve spent thinking about what people are capable of, and how they can stand
hanging a mirror in every bathroom, because water cannot clean people
of the lie they told their brother or the betrayal inflicted against their friend,
some wrongs of which may never be realized, but will always remain
in the form of a new freckle on my left cheek or shadow beneath my eye.
And I am sorry, because I should have sooner heeded my mother’s words
when she told me I was the moral compass grounding you stonedust streets.
Your childhood resembled a light bulb broken before it tasted electricity,
no one taught you North from South and how different the terrain may become
when you find yourself in the mountains with only sandals on your feet.
I had been that for you, and you told me as much every weekend we spent
riding in the bed of my father’s pickup truck and shouting against wind-gusts
that threatened to carry our voices away from one another--
I have sinced learned there are many ways to **** a person.
I killed you when I stole your sense of direction like floorboards from beneath
your cracked and bleeding feet, and allowed you to fall--who knows how far--
landing in a pile of skin-biting needles and leftover sediment,
the very bottom of brown-glass bottles strewn across the floor.
Staying would have saved you, I’m sure, and I’ll never forget that I turned away
out of fear, cowardice, because I hated the sight of your skin-and-bone crowd,
friends in name but not in heart, and left you lost among them,
And you who knew no better remained, your humanity
expelled with each smoke-laden breath and then evaporating, nonextant.
Jan 21, 2015
Jan 21, 2015 at 7:45 PM UTC
If I ever get the chance to love you forever I promise you I will do it to my greatest capacity. I promise to listen to you when you get so invested in conversation you ramble for hours. I promise to accept you when you're being stubborn, and fight you when you're wrong. I promise to learn how to make your favourite meals from your mother, I know her cooking will always be your favourite. I promise to find every freckle on your body. I will kiss every single one. I promise to always say see you later rather than goodbye. I promise to protect you from heartache to the best of my ability. Actually, I promise to help you through heartache when it comes our way. You'll never be alone. I promise to kiss you when you first wake up even though we both know you get smelly. I promise to be your biggest fan and greatest supporter. I promise to scratch your back and pop your back pimples. I promise to watch your favourite television show even if I could honestly care less. I really don't care about zombies. I promise to never let us become your parents. I promise to never let you be like your father. I promise to never let you be like my father. I promise to be the best mother if you let me. I promise to tuck you in when you're drunk and give you water and Advil when you're hungover. I promise to be your home. I promise to make our house as ***** as possible. I promise to race you up the stairs. I promise to keep myself positive. I promise to let you pick me up when it feels like I can't do it myself. I promise to laugh at your baby photos with your sister and to talk to your father about his hobbies. I promise to make fun of you for being a mama's boy. I promise to love you for it, too. I promise to love you with every bone and muscle in my body. I promise to love you more than I did the day before. I promise to love you and love you and love you and lo
Feb 23, 2015
Feb 23, 2015 at 2:29 AM UTC
My freckle flecked love
stirs the speckled paintbrush soft, dousing it's hairs so that,
as I pull it back,
all the bristles bend
seamlessly, and when I let go
they ping forwards,
smattering
a scattering of stars,
onto snowy canvas.
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 5:43 PM UTC
How lovely is the freckle upon the fire child,
How beautiful are these sun kisses.
What a summer that transpires under blue eyes,
What virtuous hands to clasp mine in camaraderie.
To all the sparks, the red heads, the gingers, the orange licks of heat:
Continue to burn, for it is amazing to see.
May 21, 2020
May 21, 2020 at 2:48 PM UTC
I took up smoking to replace one bad habit for another
(and a little bit for a taste of that head rush you used to give me).
I watch as my heart walks around downtown, outside of me;
and in my dreams, I’m pulling out my teeth for you.
It’s all these ******* mind games and those girls with bigger chests.
Can you recall one freckle off my sunburnt face?
The only thing I could ever leave with you were those bruises on your neck.
But even they began to fade the moment my mouth left your skin.
I left my broken bones at the foot of your bed.
I had planted my roots in your shoes, but I didn’t know where to grow after you left them in the doorway.
How can you expect me to live in the shell of something that once made a sunrise look dull?
And what do you think of when you see my last name on a street sign?
Apr 27, 2014
Apr 27, 2014 at 11:46 PM UTC
i am running out of
air
i am running out of
scrapes on my knees
running out of
new corners to cross
in this neighborhood
we are growing up in the same houses
with the same curtain of trees draping
their limbs over our windowsills
we are sleeping in the same bedsheets
wrinkled from the imperative
tossing and turning
of adolescents.
we inflate our chests
and float away like red balloons
a freckle in the pale complexion of the sky
for this love affair with the pavement
has lost its edge
this slipping on
slimy banana peels
has stabilized
we have bitten and scratched and stained
the doors of your fingers
studied every trail of your fingerprints
we have grown older in the palm of your hand
your fists raised to the sky
it is time for you to open them.
Jan 19, 2018
Jan 19, 2018 at 3:33 PM UTC
You are so beautiful you make my eyes burn
like you are a ray of sunshine-
but I love you more under the moon
we both are marked by craters
deep blue and black under our skin
I traced your veins with my fingers
and I just want to swim in them
I don’t know how many more times
I can write about the curl of your lips
and the way your hair turns at the edges
and about your legs
and chest
oh god your chest
and your collarbones
and the tattoo on your bicep
and the freckle in your eyes
and the dark burnt edge of it all
I don’t know how many more poems I can write
about how I want to love you forever
how I want to take care of you
how much your illness does not
define you as a person of value
oh god I ******* love you
Apr 6, 2014
Apr 6, 2014 at 11:05 AM UTC
i want to love you
like a lazy sunday morning
staying in bed
taking our time
sipping coffee
memorising every freckle
like the constellations in the sky
white sheets
and tangled limbs
with the scent of a memory
fresh on our lips.
Apr 16, 2021
Apr 16, 2021 at 9:43 AM UTC
She was my life
She is my life
All she has too do is smile
And my heart melts
She captures me with her words
Her wisdom
She is beautiful
From head to toe
Freckle to freckle
Her eyes glow like a cat in the night
But in the day
Her eyes are the color of red like a sunset
We get high together
Then get low
We might cry together
Her skin fair as snow
Shes there for me
And I'm here for her
We listen to alterative rock
And classic 90's
We can talk for hours
About absolutely nothing
She amazes me
With her strength
I lover her so much
My girly love :)
Jun 28, 2013
Jun 28, 2013 at 1:24 PM UTC
I want to be adored,
the way I adore every single freckle
which scatter all over your pale skin,
the way I adore the crisp air and the leaves crunching beneath my feet
while I walk home alone and compare you to the breeze,
or the way I adore how your hands overpower mine.
Apr 13, 2014
Apr 13, 2014 at 10:36 PM UTC
The way he touched me
when we first got serious
was much different from how
he touched me at the end
of it all.
His hands used to be soft
and his eyes drank in
every curve of my body,
every freckle of my skin.
He would look up at me like
I was a new adventure,
and I knew that this whole
night of romance was for me-
he wanted me to really feel
how much he cherished me.
I miss those days
immensely.
At the end his hands were
much more rough,
his eyes averted mine.
He couldn't see me as a treasure-
I was just flesh under his own.
It became all about his lust,
his desperateness to feel something real.
And that night that held
a surprise showing of
grins and grimaces and
a couple almost-kisses,
it felt like home.
I am terrified to remember
that night because
I realized something:
His fingers grazed my skin
like they did
in the beginning,
he looked at me like I was new.
It's terrifying because
the only thing holding me together
is knowing that the boy I love
is nothing like the boy I left.
And now that I caught that glimpse,
and now that I know he's
exactly the same as he used to be,
my head is spinning and
my heart spasms in pain.
I was wrong and there are no words
to describe how sad that makes me.
But I made the choice
to walk away from the confusion
for enough time to realize
that I'm okay with being alone.
And even if I were to find someone new,
I would always feel like I was cheating,
like anything I could ever feel
for someone else
would be a lie.
And even if I were to be with him again,
I would feel like I was doing him
a disservice,
like even if I was loving him,
I still wouldn't be genuine enough
to make him feel loved.
I will always and forever feel like
I am cheating on the man I love.
And that's the price I will pay
for the immense disservice
I have already paid him.
Jan 28, 2013
Jan 28, 2013 at 5:45 PM UTC
There is an algorithm out there,
somewhere on the web
it is calculating my every click
my likes, my comments
how many hours I spend at night
browsing poetry
or probably ****
There is an algorithm out there,
somewhere on the web
it collects my style, my taste
it knows my favorite color,
it has studied my face
the way no lover ever has,
down to the freckle.
There is an algorithm out there,
somewhere on the web
it knows things about me
my friends or family would never ask.
It knows how many times
I have searched the word 'suicide'
how many times I asked for nudes
and how many times I received.
It knows my greatest fears
but also my most coveted dreams.
It knows things about me
I may have forgotten about me.
There is an algorithm out there,
somewhere on the web
it has created an image of me
I would rather not see
nor believe in its legitimacy
yet every time I go to type
its guesses my next thought
with pinpoint accuracy.
There is an algorithm out there...
Sep 11, 2016
Sep 11, 2016 at 6:03 PM UTC
The oldest one has set the bar -
Brown eyes, brown hair, natural tan,
Teeth that look just the way teeth should with no aid from metal or NASA-patented plastics.
Kappa Alpha Theta, college homecoming queen,
Following in the footsteps of our parents,
To someday hand out bottles of pills with her God-given smile and white coat to match.
I know she's not perfect, but I like to pretend.
Then there's me.
Then the next youngest,
Long brown hair, massive brown eyes, pale skin with the occasional freckle.
Her awkward phase - back brace, teeth brace, allergies, inhaler, tall and gangly -
paid off in the best way.
She wears her high heels to high school and looks straight off the runway.
She wears her pointe shoes and unfolds like a plant growing in fast-motion.
She sits at the table and draws and eats nothing but carbs and still looks made of sticks.
She wants to be a cartoonist, people tell her to be a model, a ballerina,
Our mother insists she's far too brilliant.
Then the baby.
Thin blonde hair, blue-grey eyes with a ring on the outside, grey skin when she's tired.
As Dad says: the printer ran out of ink.
She's beautiful like the rest, of course, but
she's not finished yet, still learning that her peers are generally wrong.
She frets and worries, but she listens to the music I tell her to,
and her expensive pockets have less and less rhinestones.
I tell her not to hug me so much when I come home,
But it's fine. I'm proud of her.
Someday she'll stop screaming at our mother and realize what she has to look forward to.
Nov 10, 2012
Nov 10, 2012 at 1:39 PM UTC
I miss you like sadness.
I used to wrap around myself like some lovelorn python
with a desire for suicide blondes.
Called yourself a wrecking ball, but you had no choice.
Maybe you wanted to caress my house softly without destruction.
Maybe you cried afterwards like a lost child on a mountain of doubt.
Full of maybes! You make me full of maybes!
I was taught as a child that maybe was just a watered down no.
Stop watering the truth down, I'm not your flower.
I'm a ****
And I'll just continue to grow until I can't fit in anything except for my own grave.
You make me want to go to church.
I was baptised once, I forget as what.
I honestly don't even know what religion is,
but I can religiously blacken my lungs with nicotine and lies.
Lie with me.
Caress my sins.
My body is world war three,
I have nuclear bombs in the dips of my collarbones
and every single freckle you used to compare to the galaxies
are bullet holes.
Save your prose for someone who gives a ****
Pull the blinds baby, we don't need light in here.
Did you know that with three minutes of asphyxiation you become brain dead?
Let's try it baby, suicide pact?
Let's dance with the dead darling.
You always said the devil was our best friend.
My tarot cards turned black when you turned them over.
You said that I was hard to read.
I had trouble reading anything except the bell jar.
And now it's my turn to ring it.
You're prettier with a necklace made of fingers.
I want to collect your energy in a mason jar and sell it at a garage sale.
I want to smash it in the middle of a highway and lay in a ditch until the wolves eat my body.
I want to be lost.
Lose me baby.
I'll lose myself in your lies.
Lie with me.
I just want to be held.
Aug 20, 2013
Aug 20, 2013 at 1:27 AM UTC
oh my god
i am so sorry
it's just that my battery died and i drove around for hours looking for your new second floor apartment
i am sticking my fingers down my throat and i’m gagging until these god **** butterflies find their way out of my cavernous stomach
you aren’t allowed to laugh when i walk through your door with cold taco bell and red cheeks because i’m nervous
you've never seen this freckle before, you don't know my new favorite song
you rest your arms on my legs and move closer to me and we both scream because we’re gonna puke, butterflies
i ask you for a glass of water and you should ask me to leave
trembling, you don’t even use a coaster
i take a sip and stare at the tupperware on the floor, i taste dishwasher soap and it is almost enough to scare these butterflies who used to remain dormant right out of my ******* gut
Jun 5, 2015
Jun 5, 2015 at 8:16 PM UTC