"margo" poems
Sometimes I wish I was Margo Roth Spiegelman
I want to be able to follow my heart and do the things I've always wanted to
I want to dance with wind
Feel the grass beneath my feet
The stars to blanket me with sparkle
And the moon to light my face
I've always wanted to run
And never look this way again
To be the captain of my own soul
Seizing all the hours of my day
I have feet because I know I wasn't meant to stay on the ground
I wasn't given wings because I know I am no angel
But I knew I was destined to fly
Jul 14, 2015
Jul 14, 2015 at 10:07 AM UTC
By Arcassin Burnham
How did it feel when you took her and made her
Understand that you were the one who cared and
Showed her more compassion?
How did it feel when you've noticed all her
Imperfections letting her go off into the sunset in
A paper town?
How did it feel?
Oh! How did it feel?
Watching over her like the hawk, making sure she'd text back,
Back......
How did it feel when you told her all of those things
Before she ran off and never came back?
How did it feel when you looked for clues and letter boxes
Going on a journey just to see if she'd turn up,
How did it feel?
Oh! How did it feel?
Watching over her like the hawk, making sure she'd text back....
One day, one day.
Aug 31, 2016
Aug 31, 2016 at 11:05 AM UTC
I am sorry Margo
but I cAn't let go
Even though I tried
I can't leave it aLl behind
every time I Ran away
I found that my waY
is on A track
leaDing me back
in my Home I
always fouNd my
Father waiting for
me aT the door
He would say:
'Son Please don't go away
I love you'
I love you too
May 2, 2014
May 2, 2014 at 2:46 PM UTC
Margo was a fragile girl,
so ****** it was cool,
we stayed in locked bathrooms, talking till nine,
her father was a liar, sipping cheap wine,
her mother a white pelican, death took her young,
she talked how she wants to orbit around me, like earth do to the sun,
wrote words on my palm,
"I think you can fix me with you sugarplum chewing gum.."
She had no clue I was just a young wolf, passing my time,
I liked broken things that lights up at dawn,
girls that hide in shadows,
waiting for their monsters to come,
blinking neon signs,
smoking cigarettes with their trembling hands,
like they are passing a gun after robbing your mom.
Once she had a dream, about us, no longer being seventeen,
she felt dumb, expressing it to me,
gazing to the distance, her dream became reality,
sound of sirens, resonating in the distance,
wind was playing with carillon on their front lawn,
I didn'tt felt guilty, wolfs don't do, after they eat all lamb.
Margo was a fragile girl,
her pale skin, blue eyes mirrored her moms,
she used to made me peanut butter sandwiches without the crust,
but she didn't know that my favorite color was rust,
I liked when things fall into dust,
enjoyed smoke after ripping young hearts apart,
I filled her world while my insides were numb,
I left after damage was done.
Apr 3, 2015
Apr 3, 2015 at 5:53 PM UTC
A live oak, grey suit not moving,
“He’s dead,”
The strings inside him broke.
She loved mysteries so
That she became one.
-
Tonight, darling, to right
Wrongs and wrong rights
with zero dollars and zero cents
and bat mitzvah money.
-
Orlando was pretty well lit,
A LEGO set sunk, a paper town
That’s uglier close up – dementia,
Paper-thin, paper-frail fox-trot
All the way around to slow dance
And finally, “I. Will. Miss. Hanging. Out. With. You.”
-
Highlighting “Song of Myself” opens the door of your mind,
Not poetry, not metaphor, clues the size of my thumbnail
Couldn’t help but smile half straight edges and half ripped
Paper towns, you will come back.
-
If only I walked like I knew how to kiss
Guthrie sang to Whitman as Walt read of doors
And maps of mini-malls leading
To graffiti messages and skipping graduation to drive,
“Though life can **** it always beats the alternative.”
Jun 3, 2013
Jun 3, 2013 at 6:32 PM UTC
Perché i celesti danni
Ristori il sole, e perché l'aure inferme
Zefiro avvivi, onde fugata e sparta
Delle nubi la grave ombra s'avvalla;
Credano il petto inerme
Gli augelli al vento, e la diurna luce
Novo d'amor desio, nova speranza
Nè penetrati boschi e fra le sciolte
Pruine induca alle commosse belve;
Forse alle stanche e nel dolor sepolte
Umane menti riede
La bella età, cui la sciagura e l'atra
Face del ver consunse
Innanzi tempo? Ottenebrati e spenti
Di febo i raggi al misero non sono
In sempiterno? Ed anco,
Primavera odorata, inspiri e tenti
Questo gelido cor, questo ch'amara
Nel fior degli anni suoi vecchiezza impara?
Vivi tu, vivi, o santa
Natura? Vivi e il dissueto orecchio
Della materna voce il suono accoglie?
Già di candide ninfe i rivi albergo,
Placido albergo e specchio
Furo i liquidi fonti. Arcane danze
D'immortal piede i ruinosi gioghi
Scossero e l'ardue selve (oggi romito
Nido dè venti): e il pastorel ch'all'ombre
Meridiane incerte ed al fiorito
Margo adducea dè fiumi
Le sitibonde agnelle, arguto carme
Sonar d'agresti Pani
Udì lungo le ripe; e tremar l'onda
Vide, e stupì, che non palese al guardo
La faretrata Diva
Scendea nè caldi flutti, e dall'immonda
Polve tergea della sanguigna caccia
Il niveo lato e le verginee braccia.
Vissero i fiori e l'erbe,
Vissero i boschi un dì. Conscie le molli
Aure, le nubi e la titania lampa
Fur dell'umana gente, allor che ignuda
Te per le piagge e i colli,
Ciprigna luce, alla deserta notte
Con gli occhi intenti il viator seguendo,
Te compagna alla via, te dè mortali
Pensosa immaginò. Che se gl'impuri
Cittadini consorzi e le fatali
Ire fuggendo e l'onte,
Gl'ispidi tronchi al petto altri nell'ime
Selve remoto accolse,
Viva fiamma agitar l'esangui vene,
Spirar le foglie, e palpitar segreta
Nel doloroso amplesso.
1.4k
whenever somebody reminds me of you, i consider how our roles
were like margo and quentin from paper towns. you loved mystery
novels so much, i'm sure you became one yourself. at one point, i
wholeheartedly believed you were this unattainable celestial being
completely confined in your paper skin. then i realized something,
do you remember that day you called me your best friend as a joke
and the same day, you talked so much **** about me? it made me
realize you were right. you are a part of the ****** people living in
their **** houses burning **** to stay warm, since you like to talk
**** what was i expecting? of course, you're a high schooler. to
think that before my 21st birthday, i was quentin in the way i
admired you from afar, idealizing you as a god and dismissing
everybody else as animals. i preferred to let our paths cross in
my dreams. there were many times our strings crossed, separated,
and then came back together. although i don't have the drive to
chase you across border lines, i would skateboard miles after miles
of desert terrain just to have that opportunity to see you. realizing
it now, being friends with you was a ******* trap. to portray myself
as someone you would prefer to be friends with was difficult, since
you didn't really seem to like anybody all that much anyway. our roles
were strictly platonic, but the days stretched out seemed almost phantasmagoric. our strings that were knotted together so tightly broke
through and through, and none of us would have expected that i'd be
wanting to drive across border lines to stretch the distance out between
me and you, kind of like the way you stretched me out. as i'm slowly
undiscovering you, little by little, i'm realizing the way you think about
a person isn't the way they actually are. people are different when you
smell them and see them up close. now i'm addressing everyone that i
previously ignored because of you, and dismissing you as an animal. i
would rather live in my paper house than have to live with your ****
- kra
Jun 4, 2015
Jun 4, 2015 at 9:05 AM UTC
Tuffy skinned a cat
Behind Walker Bros. Stores;
He was probably in on
The sand-girl's situation,
But no one believes her;
Yet believe Tuffy capable of such.
He wrestled ostriches and kangaroos
At Jungleworld,
Real ones.
Some say the animals were old and drugged,
But Tuffy pinned them all the same.
Margo's house burned to the studs
Following her sex-driven ******
That was thirty years ago,
The same time Jungleworld,
With its spiders, snakes and caged bear
Died off with Tuffy and his peacock,
And the secrets of his take downs and holds.
I never saw Tuffy perform
His flaming knife-throws,
Destroying balloons between lips,
Slicing straps with his swordplay.
He would've thrived in Venice with Leonardo,
Dazzling Popes and Princes,
Who would be benefactors and patrons.
Tuffy would have lived in a villa,
On a mountainside, overlooking his audience,
And applauding them for their attention to detail.
Dec 1, 2016
Dec 1, 2016 at 10:38 AM UTC
Margo Roth Speigelman
Is the girl
I always wished I could be.
In reality,
I'm more
Like Hazel Grace Lancaster
Minus the cancer.
In the end,
I only want
To get out of this paper town
Come to terms with the fault in our stars
And the fact that I'll never find Alaska.
Jun 9, 2016
Jun 9, 2016 at 9:27 PM UTC
"i heard you crying in the shower," margo says.
i put my book down beside me. i blink, margo blinks. her hair drips beads of water onto my carpet.
"yes," i reply.
"does that mean you're still sad?" she asks.
"no...yes- well, not really. not in the sense you're thinking," i say.
"oh."
"yeah."
margo makes her way from the doorway to my bed and takes a seat at the foot. she's still wearing a towel instead of clothes, and her skin is pink from the heat of her shower. she looks like she has more to say, but i don't ask, so she doesn't tell. instead, we just sit and watch each other. i wonder what the hospital has made me look like to her, and she probably wonders if i actually love her enough to get better this time, or if i was just saying it to make her happy.
"since when do you wear make-up, kiddo?" i ask, hoping to break the silence. the black lines underneath her eyes are suddenly the only things i can pay attention to.
"i don't know. i guess right after you left," she says.
"oh."
"yeah."
Mar 16, 2013
Mar 16, 2013 at 10:37 PM UTC
Ask Margo why the Salt is always hungry
Why Lime is everthisty
Envious of big bro Lemon
Who, on his part, admires Orange
'midst the Cubes of Ice complaining
May 7, 2018
May 7, 2018 at 11:56 AM UTC
Your small silver fish
dangles from your neck
and slips
toward the light
illuminating my face
and shrouding your own.
I shout profanities
loud.
There is no beauty suddenly,
it has drained
down the storm sewers
that
I am so afriad of
falling down myself.
I yell profanities
loud.
Suddenly hysterics.
I have no sunflowers to give you.
They have shriveled
and molded.
And when I sow the seeds,
so you may reap.
You are gone.
I cannot find you in art
or Whitman.
Oh Margo, where are you?
You're no enigma though,
so perfectly crystaline
a lattice of exactitudes
that I can make no assumption
about.
I scream profanties,
silent.
It is only during night,
sweet night
that you can be found in
my magazines.
I want to pull off my skin
and paint with the blood.
Cover everything.
Where have you gone?
Polar bear drowned in the snow,
come to the North
and watch the sky with me
and laugh for a moment
as peace comes
through tea
and
under blankets.
Apr 17, 2011
Apr 17, 2011 at 4:16 PM UTC
Margo was not a miracle. She was not an adventure. She was not a fine and precious thing. She was a girl. It's easy to like someone from a distance. But when she stopped being this amazing unattainable thing or whatever, and started being, like, just a regular girl with a weird relationship with food and frequent crankiness who's kind of bossy--then I had to basically start liking a whole different person.
-John Green
I read for hours to find the words,
The ones I required to know.
Ah, at last, she was so right,
Words pulled from my own shadow.
I knew them to be words of truth,
These words I had to find.
She told me I had to read them,
They might bring me peace of mind.
Alas, she was right as always,
I know not how she does.
Plucking at my own heartstrings,
The words told me who I was.
Mar 17, 2014
Mar 17, 2014 at 12:58 AM UTC
Soon, normalcy will come to an end.
Everything ceases.
There will be no more.
There are no ends to these sentences.
You may make it as deep or shallow as you need.
There will be no more Margo Roth Spiegelman.
There will be no more famine.
There will be no more late nights.
No more breath.
No more understanding.
No more lessons.
No more pain.
You must know that ends are not the end.
Life goes on, until it doesn't.
You will miss the days of normalcy past,
But some day...
There will be no more you.
Don't dwell on yesterday's happiness and the lack of the like today.
Live for this moment.
Friends come and go.
Friends change.
Life comes and goes.
Life changes.
And that is the only normalcy you should expect.
Aug 17, 2015
Aug 17, 2015 at 1:53 PM UTC
She was a lover
She let her heart guide where she would go
That poor, poor, misguided soul.
She died in a fire
That held nothing to the flames of passion
In her heart
But she didn't know that compassion
Held no guard
To the fire that burned her up
Margo wasn't essential
She had to go
I'm so sorry Margo
I told the protagonist her father died too
She'll let your brother know
A friendship turned into something more
When the brother held hands
Of a fatherless daughter
Both grieving the deaths of their mentors
Margo was a lover
And the father a fighter.
I'm sorry you had to die
For their relationship to blossom
Apr 16, 2020
Apr 16, 2020 at 3:23 AM UTC
I would love to be Margo
Have a mind that comes up with these crazy ideas, comes up with creative clues and actually do all the things I've written down and planed out
I would love to be Margo
To actually do something to the people that have ****** me off instead of just sitting in the corner and waiting for things to change
I would love to be Margo
Hide in a secret in an abandon shopping center and think about all the things that have happened and might happen in my life
I would love to be Margo
Fearless and free spirited. Not afraid to do things on my own and not think about what other people are thinking of me
But can't be Margo because my strings are not all broken, yet.
Dec 21, 2014
Dec 21, 2014 at 11:36 PM UTC
The ocean spray is on her face, the tiny salty droplets like constellations on her skin. I realize that she's beautiful, ethereal.
But the space between us stretches for miles, a platonic bridge that I can't seem to cross.
"Sometimes I think that even the ocean doesn't have enough room for the both of us." She looks at me, her blue eyes defeated and choppy, the same color and temperance as the ocean.
I stare back at her in surprise. Maybe I don't really know Margo at all.
Sep 5, 2015
Sep 5, 2015 at 11:49 AM UTC
She's got a bit of understanding of me in her pocket, though she's never treated me like Margo Roth Spiegelman or Alaska Young, but I so appreciate that she knows I am not ordinary either. She won't ever know the ways that I love her for loving me when I fall short. Over time, maybe I can make her understand that I spent three years being treated like a normal girl, my broken shards swept aside and the rest of myself glossed over with a simple layer of facade and denial, and I embraced it, and it took something from me quite incredibly devastating. I spent my growing up years being treated like there was no hope for me. But she loves my heart, knowing all it's debilitating flaws. Though I was once some terrible, selfish child, she loved me through it. I am miraculously confident that even one day when she comes to know how much strength it took to learn to speak on the phone without wanting to cry, and that I still have a lot of trouble looking other humans in the eye, and almost every day, I smoke cigarettes and listen to loud music until I give myself headaches, and I just really don't care... I believe she will still love me. She doesn't see me as weak as I see myself. I hope she knows I call her angel because looking back now, I know she's saved me a hundred times over. While I'm not quite sure yet how to exist in a love like this, the way love should have always been, I am eternally grateful.
Dec 17, 2015
Dec 17, 2015 at 11:21 PM UTC