"spiegelman" poems - Hello Poetry

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

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Jul 14, 2015

Jul 14, 2015 at 10:07 AM UTC

girlwithabrokensmile

Sometimes

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

13

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.

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Aug 17, 2015

Aug 17, 2015 at 1:53 PM UTC

everyoneleavessodeal

Untitled

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.

24

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.

0

Dec 17, 2015

Dec 17, 2015 at 11:21 PM UTC

alexithymia

angel

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.

1

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how certain things make me think of you And no one else, and without reason, I guess just some letters of the alphabet belong to your memory And then you fill up the smoky corners of my mind and I start wondering How can I get on a plane and get up to you I want you and me and the long-haired boy who lived across the hall from us To walk somewhere dark and look at the city lights To talk about love and punk music and poetry and missing people who become part of you You both know a lot about those things and I know so little I think I need to be close to your flesh to soak up your greatness. I’ve been thinking so much lately that it worries me That you’re busy now with the end of an era, and other such things And you’ll eventually stop thinking about me I imagine somehow that I’ll feel it; that I’ll turn my head to the wind dramatically And know deep in my bones that I fell out of your mind for the last time. I haven’t been able to breathe for two months. No one can touch me. I know you know what it feels like. Every time I’m in a crowd I start to panic Every time I’m asleep my dreams start to strangle me I wake up in tears and sometimes people hold me But mostly I wonder if I am a burden. I wonder if I can be heard. I cannot write poetry about my anxiety Because I am afraid of the word But I know you know what it feels like. At any rate, I meant to tell you In some way or another, eventually or not at all That I read your poetry all the time. That I tell pretty boys that I know, personally, the greatest poet and artist of all time and we shared a dorm room in a pretty city with pretty lights and she used to hand me my bottle of pain pills early in the morning. I don’t mean to be strange And I’m surrounded by so much love here I never seem to have a moment free And there are so many people, I’m never alone Every day there are concerts! and kissing! and bookstores! are you proud? And I’m sure you haven’t got a spare minute to miss me But if I ever cross your mind, if David Bowie and black jeans remind you of something Let me know and I’ll crawl up to your skyline And I’ll listen to your poetry and collect your tears Because life always has a way of grinding to a stop for me And when it does, I always think of you.

0

Feb 20, 2016

Feb 20, 2016 at 2:06 AM UTC

lucymichelle

Dear Spiegelman

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how certain things make me think of you And no one else, and without reason, I guess just some letters of the alphabet belong to your memory And then you fill up the smoky corners of my mind and I start wondering How can I get on a plane and get up to you I want you and me and the long-haired boy who lived across the hall from us To walk somewhere dark and look at the city lights To talk about love and punk music and poetry and missing people who become part of you You both know a lot about those things and I know so little I think I need to be close to your flesh to soak up your greatness. I’ve been thinking so much lately that it worries me That you’re busy now with the end of an era, and other such things And you’ll eventually stop thinking about me I imagine somehow that I’ll feel it; that I’ll turn my head to the wind dramatically And know deep in my bones that I fell out of your mind for the last time. I haven’t been able to breathe for two months. No one can touch me. I know you know what it feels like. Every time I’m in a crowd I start to panic Every time I’m asleep my dreams start to strangle me I wake up in tears and sometimes people hold me But mostly I wonder if I am a burden. I wonder if I can be heard. I cannot write poetry about my anxiety Because I am afraid of the word But I know you know what it feels like. At any rate, I meant to tell you In some way or another, eventually or not at all That I read your poetry all the time. That I tell pretty boys that I know, personally, the greatest poet and artist of all time and we shared a dorm room in a pretty city with pretty lights and she used to hand me my bottle of pain pills early in the morning. I don’t mean to be strange And I’m surrounded by so much love here I never seem to have a moment free And there are so many people, I’m never alone Every day there are concerts! and kissing! and bookstores! are you proud? And I’m sure you haven’t got a spare minute to miss me But if I ever cross your mind, if David Bowie and black jeans remind you of something Let me know and I’ll crawl up to your skyline And I’ll listen to your poetry and collect your tears Because life always has a way of grinding to a stop for me And when it does, I always think of you.

41