"unbox" poems
I thought I could shove you
to the back of my closet,
make you another skeleton with cracked
bones that were never able to mend.
But when it was midnight and my room
was as dark as the moon ridden sky,
I could still hear your blood pumping,
and the sound of your fingernails
clawing at the door searching
for the missing piece of your heart.
I thought I could ignore it,
and silence your scent that somehow
still lingered on my skin.
Until I realized no perfume could
mask the shadow you had casted on me.
So I unbox your pieces
and step back into my old life,
realizing maybe we weren’t dead after all.
The sensation of your lips touching my skin
once again was the warmest my iron lacking body had felt since the day I left.
It’s midnight again,
but I’m back in your room.
It’s as dark as the moon ridden sky,
yet there’s starlight drizzling over your face.
All this time I refused to believe that we were made of the same stardust,
until I finally saw our constellation
finding its way back together.
Oct 30, 2018
Oct 30, 2018 at 9:19 AM UTC
You captured my heart in the waking dawn of a warm summer morning.
Gold flecks caught in your eyes, shimmering like pixies in the sun.
Running through dewy patches of newly blossomed flowers, I felt newly blossomed too.
Under trees and in between leaves,
I found love in your body and soul, enchanting and enticing,
Throwing my head back laughing at everything you said to me.
And I saw it in your gypsy smile,
That this wasn't to be forever,
But I didn't mind.
I laid in meadows of wildflowers and spelled your name out in petals, until the wind swept them up to some place far away.
The taste on your lips like sweet nectar dripping onto my tongue,
Your hands soft and gentle, caressing my face like a child.
I unbox my nostalgia, piece by piece like little russian nesting dolls as I speak of you now,
and consider you almost a dream,
so long ago and so brief,
It almost doesn't feel real to me anymore.
Apr 21, 2014
Apr 21, 2014 at 9:37 AM UTC
Dear teller
you
with ten fingers
two eyes
and a mouth
find the next nova
to go super
and from there
trace the galactic map
back to me
so I can
go
and
discover
the freedom
outside
a personality
that isn’t just
Lysol and Clorox
and just maybe
I will also
see you
more than just
ten fingers
two eyes
and one mouth…
Apr 15, 2020
Apr 15, 2020 at 9:05 AM UTC
Excited as a child on Christmas,
with footed pajamas,
and ***** hair,
am I to learn love with you.
Wayside wrapping paper unearths broken defenses and inhibition.
I am a present waiting for your truth to unbox and set free.
Aug 18, 2014
Aug 18, 2014 at 6:03 PM UTC
On day in April
when all hope
of a white landscape faded to memories
surprise entered morning breath.
A gift meandering
from clouds of sky
to ground below.
A special cool present
bonding with air to make
artistic landscape.
They came in droves
as if fairies looking for home
upon mountainside and ground.
They came florissant white
tickling senses to be a child again.
They gave face a reason to smile
and unbox gloves and hats
to have an adventure
with camera in hand.
The gift daintily danced
coating tree branches
to make them shine.
Daily bustle of noise slowed
yet for shovels making contact
with ground.
I felt blessed,
to see them gather in beauty
before Father Sky took action.
Action to tuck them back in clouds
in-exchange
for Springs flowery blanket.
Apr 2, 2018
Apr 2, 2018 at 10:34 AM UTC
the room was empty but it was filled with boxes of our things.
my hopes and dreams for us,
your secrets and lies.
you kept them taped up tight,
and every month that passed by you began to unbox them
one at a time.
Apr 18, 2019
Apr 18, 2019 at 7:00 PM UTC