"understandably" poems
Recovery, Initially, is about knowing; Knowing that change is necessary,
Accepting that your life is not where you want it to be, About facing up to your fears and anxiety
Then taking the first step eventually… When you, and you alone, feel you are ready.
Recovery, Critically, demands pure honesty, requires the utmost integrity
Most Especially, when confronting your past traumas, your history
Though it may make you feel angry, sad and often times guilty
This process is key if you really want to move on, to change truly.
Recovery, Truthfully, is far from easy, It can be fraught with challenges, setbacks, difficulty.
It can hurt physically and even worse emotionally, Testing your will power to the extremity.
It takes great Strength, Courage and Bravery; Determination, Resilience, in the face of adversity
Recovery, Thankfully, need not be a lonely journey, Though you alone must take ultimate responsibility.
There are lots of supports out there happily; from good friends, family and in your community
Though it can be hard to ask for help, understandably…Let not pride undermine your recovery.
Recovery, Ultimately, is about getting where it is you want to be, about starting anew daily
About achieving realistic goals you have set regularly, Learning from the process; what worked successfully
Starting to believe in yourself gradually, Gaining an insight into what you are capable of ...potentially
Finally, Recovery is for all, a lifelong journey, Guarding against ambivalence, relapse, constantly.
Knowing that every day will, in reality, pose real threats for you in your recovery
But every day also presents an opportunity… to engage with, enjoy, your life more fully.
May 19, 2023
May 19, 2023 at 12:59 PM UTC
Slowly drowning me
With your negativity.
Bringing me down
With your selfishness.
You sit there and wonder
Why your life has turned out the way it has.
Some things are understandably upsetting,
Others, terribly exaggerated.
You sit there and wonder what your life has become,
Though yet you do nothing to make it better.
Your words burn the hearts of others,
Though you expect forgiveness a moment later.
Boasting about what could have been,
What you have missed out on,
Blaming others for your own mistakes.
You expect all those around you to forgive your piercing murmurs,
That become more than just background noise,
More like spiteful parodies,
As you laugh with yourself
Lost in your negativity.
Breaking those around you,
Losing others along the way,
I won't be able to take it for much longer,
Can't stand your negative ways.
Jan 6, 2015
Jan 6, 2015 at 1:38 AM UTC
I interact with myself constantly
So understandably, it’s exhausting
The voices speak so compassionately
Why would I ever express outwardly?
Empathy tree stump to sit just the one
I stand on this pedestal to view you
My frozen expression needs warmth from sun
Only then can I ask “How do you do?”
Animate mixes poorly with my buzz
The vibrating heartbeat… all I have left
All else is a blank canvas, just because
I’m trapped on stage, all I have is mind set
Leave me alone, I want to be myself
My one care is for what can’t speak itself
Jul 10, 2021
Jul 10, 2021 at 3:19 PM UTC
*understandably the english language over-uses
the pronouns per se, but it's not conscious of it,
poets can become conscious of this strategic
blunder without the language ever realising.*
over-usage of pronouns in poetry
reveals ambitious & amateurish quillsmith
crafting: not enough nouns; i bet the narration
concerns are but a way to sideline casual politics,
a lack of the english sense of personal space:
fickle eroticism of teenagers when it was only
an intended handshake.
Jan 7, 2016
Jan 7, 2016 at 7:48 PM UTC
The wandering hours
Create pondering towers
When instead of talking
You are always walking
Steadily ahead of me
Like you're dead to me
Like a small centipede
Walking for centuries
With the intent to be free
Yet constantly ambulatory
So we become slaves to your movement
When settling would be an improvement
You begin to freely flake
As I start to starve
You say let them eat cake
And my heart you carve
Into servings appropriate for your appetite
While I know something isn't right
But still forced to accept this plight
Of being your minor distraction
Chained by my love's infraction
Of settling on you
I shouldn't stay
But I bet I do
I wish I loved or hated you a little more
So I'd know what to do
As it stands I'm always looking out the door
But I'm unable to move
I want to stick around and see if you do something amazing
Like love me back
Instead of attack
With your acidic apathy
You mercilessly grapple me
And never decide to let go
Of love you never let show
We've been driving down this road for a while
And for the last million miserable miles
You've presented me unpredictable trials
With your nonchalant instinctual style
You've let yourself become extremely impaired
As I understandably grow more and more scared
I feel the answer is in the love we seldom share
But you're never lost when you're going nowhere
And I cannot follow your wandering stare
Nov 22, 2017
Nov 22, 2017 at 3:02 AM UTC
A Bird, which will be of the age
is not good enough, | is or will be;
In order to be able to be controlled;
on behalf of the deaths of so many,
unique in the city,
In particular, the Church is the Church
by virtue of the form of the the fire in the green stars;
standardized, Mary was born on the bed
of Allah's Goat, Lord, this is my time,
The blood; head,
American adulterers here are golden
United Nations members Software
In the history of the sport doctor,
Another item that is contrary to God's,
Its features contained in the nutrition and diet,
literary experts thinking Igor
the name of the topic that is the true spirit
of Greek and Latin; The name of the old | one
together with its own nature; Brazil in the news,
and for the first time; Exercises early
in the morning; There is a clean slate
blind blind; Sunscreen is the rallying cry
on Wall Street because heat and women
do not produce Alchemy; Education
| changes to the garden and changes his focus
to focus on the Russian psychiatrist | |
whose Heroes are adults;
with Jews, all are members of holes
At the entrance to the project the green tea tree
in front of the French school in Virginia
is another; ||full of the country I went with him
to the next town,
where Black Hill was available,
free as smoke, Regards from the sand
at the beach; After watching the food
and Hills and Hills and Hills of *******
firings and labor unrest, the characters,
you'll cry, face south, a wise driver || | |
And it was the attacks of the servants,
Marcus picked the best fights;
Johnny Angel pushing her on her stomach
in Marcus's Museum of America
in England, boughs and leaves falling
About Einstein's wife's head; The Entire |
Beginner's football club piles on top
of the screaming woman
understandably horrifying for those
not involved, lest what is defined
in the term evil, is the same ******
of the trees; The happy city working
on the beach; Growing up I began
to stroll the paradisiacal part of the city.
The girl's glory bore witness
to ligroàkọsílẹ's second wife,
when the bomb hit the covers of adultery;
Ever trusting, the fornicators
taking the oil to the women,
Since in seeking you, I will see to it:
that they speak |||||
Oct 9, 2018
Oct 9, 2018 at 9:12 AM UTC
I told the professor I loved beat literature and all the hippy consequences. He said they were such a small part of the population (along with Native Americans too apparently, he noted a different time. Because of what, you ******* I thought).
A pompous misguided thing, which either understandably or surprisingly, been teaching there since the 1960s. Five minutes of a winded attempt at putting anglophile humor into the lecture and you know the choice is "understandably" rather than "surprisingly." Been professing for the establishment, closed to other ways of thinking trickery.
A real square through and through. As if all change should come from appeasing the tyrannical bleachy supposed majority. Those in poverty, darker skins, gays, drug users, and all around flashy dressers ought to don suits for their one night Ed Sullivan performance. Get the folks on Bass Run Lane to be okay with seeing you in a glass cage in their living room scene. For just a couple decades. Then maybe they'll be used to seeing you in a grocery store. You'll always be laughable though, as they designed it to be so.
The hippies were a very small majority says the anointed professor.
"So were the suffragettes" snaps back a fiery thing sitting next to me. I should have talked to her more.
Aug 12, 2014
Aug 12, 2014 at 11:29 PM UTC
As the air thins you are called to memory
I am as yet
Unsure of what relationship exists
Between the flitting nimbus and velocity
And me
Perhaps the times I fell away from the earth
Skirting through layers of atmosphere
Between the curvature of horizons
And a past sunset far behind me
I left traces of longing In contrails
I left vapour trails of emotion in the sky
Understandably you are filtered from my gravity restricted musings
With feet on Terra Firma; no contrail exists
Only here with vermillion slashing the clouds
Carving a wake through air so fast sounds can’t catch me
Do I remember how I howled
Oct 1, 2018
Oct 1, 2018 at 1:10 PM UTC
I haven't really faced these feelings yet
They've been hidden deep in my soul
Because it'd be easier to be heartless
Than to acknowledge the reality
I know I broke up with you
And I know the way things happened was not ok
I keep replaying where things changed
Trying to pinpoint that moment where
Everything stopped feeling right
And I think I finally found it
We were doing great together
So much love
We thrived together
And then I told you I'm polyamorous
And then I didn't listen to you
I didn't recognize my problematic behavior
And you were scared
I assume you felt like you were losing me
And I was finally feeling free
But I wasn't gone yet
We were still trying to be ok
But you shut down, understandably
And I got scared and distanced myself
You needed me more
And I felt trapped by that
So we both slowly changed
And neither could keep up with the others needs
I am not trying to justify this
I am just trying to understand
Because I still miss you
When I'm laying here alone
Cuddling my Nemo
And all I can picture is how you guys cuddled on the couch together
Or when I'm out doing something
And I think about how much you'd like it
Trying not to wish you were with me
But sometimes I do
I can't even play video games
Or watch love it or list it
Without these haunting memories
So I just avoid it and do nothing instead
Maybe if we lived closer it would have been different
Maybe if I would have paid more attention to your needs
We wouldn't have ended up this way
I know I said we weren't compatible
But we were once upon a time
I'm sorry if I made you feel like you weren't enough
You deserve so much more than I gave you
I'm sorry for not being enough for you
Because you really deserve everything good
You're a good person
And I care about you
I hope you find happiness one day
I know you will
You're good
I'm sorry for taking that away from you
Dec 20, 2017
Dec 20, 2017 at 2:38 AM UTC
Why can’t you see?
That you are breaking my ******* heart
The taste in my mouth is ****
Because from the start
I’ve been vomiting
Trying to give you what you want
But I cringe at the thought
Of bringing someone into this world
Who I couldn’t support
I wouldn’t want to resort
To the government aid
Using food stamps
Holding the line back
That’s not going to be me
I am going to break free
I am tired of hearing what you think you see
Because I don’t agree
You don’t have a ******* clue what its like to be me
You’ll never see what I have seen
I’m holding back to come clean
Stop acting so mean
I can’t stand that you think its okay
To talk to me that way
I don’t need you to ******* stay
This bed is big enough for me
It never really was yours
You always left angry
And slammed your doors
**** you son of a *****
Go **** your ******
And please leave all my ****
I don’t need you thinking about me anymore
Just set me free
I can make it on my own
My mind is full grown
I’m not afraid of being alone
I have already been shown
The life after this
And you’re not prepared
If you where more stable
I wouldn’t be so scared
My vision is impaired
All those shots I was dared
**** I can’t even walk
I try to talk
But I’m going into shock
I am trapped with you
Don’t you see?
I can’t even be
Who I want to be
This isn’t me
Time is running short
How are you going to prove?
You won’t trip
In every tiny groove
I’m making my move
I am tired of being used
**** this abuse
My ropes are coming loose
**** this noose
Deuces
No Date
Ashli Jane
Dec 23, 2009
Dec 23, 2009 at 7:53 AM UTC
The Human hair holds emotional weight the way one’s heart does.
Understandably so,
you’ve claimed every strand of mine, yours.
Jun 13, 2023
Jun 13, 2023 at 11:06 AM UTC
(I)
People used to light candles to ward off
prophesies such as this. Stopping, each
motherly representative, for 75 seconds
or less,
to tip match-spark to wax-thread
and hope for the best.
What ceremonial significance now
do we seek for to slow the approach
of what we know is waiting?
Oncoming march of death-knolls and unhappiness
bound up in silence
where
once we laughed uncensored at and for
the characters who spun throughout
this town, that school, the city, our lives.
All being, understandably, becomes
efficiently replaced with obvious simplicity.
From effortless performances
of what made our lives important
back in childhood years when living
was stable and guaranteed,
now to this mongrel era of constant migration
beckoning....
The familiar is no longer our youth’s
careless summer holidays.
The Familiar is now a land where
people don’t bother with any ideas
of an ideal existence beyond
what lottery tickets may bring.
Those who inhabit here are
more alerted to the purpose of lighting
coals in winter to shelter the children
and to keep the windows from cracking.
In summer find these same awaiting with
patient ears to heed any advice
which keeps them from going completely insane.
(II)
Go now, away
,begin
your quest, foolish schoolboy.
An entire adolescence’s
comeuppance is due.
Time now to seek recompense
for the years you waited
for anything significant to happen.
Time to seek girls with inviting eyes
and lilting vowels to offer favors to.
Abled with a catalogue of charmed
intoxicants. All softened by
a plentitude of weekdays waking
at three in the afternoon.
(Does “afternoon” exist in layman’s terms? Does
he simply made do with morning, day and night?)
Then on your flight make haste
to ensure your visit merely brief.
Like only one dimension of
your day-persona be a hawk
that delivers messages
back to the ivory towers of
new central HQ, while remaining
all cloak and whisper.
Messages from where people live
but no longer speak,
as result of an assigned sense
of failure,or complimentary
wrongdoings sought, what sorrow achieves.
Shattered lives, Ending dreams.
Feb 11, 2013
Feb 11, 2013 at 11:55 AM UTC
I get sick of cliches, I get sick of the tropes
I get sick of affected twits and how love had them on the ropes
If I let myself breathe the same air as everyone else I'm gonna choke
I can't help but breathe her in and feel I've gone beyond the scope
Of my, simple visions of destroyed inhibitions
and I, can't help but get nervous how she changes up my focus
Can I, convey this handedly while knowing understandably
That I'm leaning on a danger to a core that I've exposed
We've leaned down for contact, she pushed me I push back
The pressure on our hearts has potential for explosion
The languish I had locked inside interior erosion
Implodes, he dotes of notes he'd wrote to quote a query quietly
Distrusting of emotions, just a quiver can inspire me
Fearing no enemy, fearing no evil entity
Fearing only connection and if I'm wasting my energy
Love brought me happiness but it stirred up the cobwebs
Little demons laying dormant til I explored them in every form
in every figure in every norm til they've distorted my performance
But as pandora's box was 1st class special ordered to my doorstep
I dove in straight for signs of hope, a passing look could soon afford this.
She voices her fears, connections lost by the distance
I'll bridge the gap to defend her, no need she says with persistence
She's scared of monotony, she gets scared of the tropes
She gets sick of affected twits and how they leave her with no hope
If she's forced to breathe the same as before she's gonna choke
I leaned in for contact, I push her, she pushed back
We're two shades of the same Wavelength
Our angles just refract.
Apr 21, 2014
Apr 21, 2014 at 12:42 AM UTC
Losing herself to the roar of a motorcycle with wings she questions;
Are you going to destroy the world?
Understandably all he did was laugh in response, but the
Girl learned to laugh as well. And she
Held on a little tighter.
Oct 11, 2015
Oct 11, 2015 at 6:42 PM UTC
An Aussie Couple in their middle years
had despaired of children of their own.
To fill that empty room at home
They would need a womb on loan.
A Young Thai woman without a mate
agreed to be their surrogate.
To spare them from a childless fate
Ten Thousand was the going rate.
Fraternal twins, a boy and girl,
were implanted in the Surrogate.
The little girl, a perfect child.
Her brother faced a darker fate.
A child with Down’s is often slain
before they see the light of day.
Identified pre natally,
They are aborted right away.
The surrogate, in awe of God,
would not accede to such a fate.
The “Parents” refused the “damaged goods”
and were “understandably” irate.
His “parents” wouldn’t take him home
Due to his mismatched chromosomes.
His surrogate who gave him birth
became his only friend on Earth.
One child accepted, one denied;
They say “He is no child of mine!”
The surrogate will raise him as her own;
Though he be less than kin she’s more than kind.
Aug 4, 2014
Aug 4, 2014 at 8:45 PM UTC
I often wonder what stars look like during daylight. Understandably, that seems contradictory, seeing as daylight is cast from a star. This isn’t starting out so well.... Just.. Hear me out on this one.... Alright, let’s start again. I often wonder what stars looking like during daylight. Do the spread life-giving rays toward deep space or is that just the ignorant optimist speaking too quickly? I tend to speak first, question later, Standard american wisdom, does anyone else think it’s cool that the hottest stars are actually blue? Blue... Like the eyes of pretty girls on TV, Blue, like the first T-shirt my second love told me I looked good in, for a third time. Blue... Like... Blue’s Clues? So far, not so good. I’ll apologize to the audience right now, It’s been some time since I’ve written, Feeling like a typewriter collecting 50 years of dust, my words are quite antiquated. Now... Where were we? Right! The stars! They scream to me, words, I only wish I could understand. I can hear the right side of the sky when the wind calms, and clouds disappear. “ gaze upon us, let’s fill your emptyness, enjoy the abundance of mysteries sent through your squinted eyes and released from your over-bearing shout.
Hey now, I don’t know about you, that sounded pretty good. Definitely going to keep that in here. I think I’m unraveling the mystery, The stars are magicians. A bit of sleight of hand, now you see me... Now, only they see me. I finally understand why the ends of stars are pointed, it’s the edge of their wands. Cascading star dust over what they see fit, I remember being told humans are made of such a thing. If truth is spoken from these lips, Color me blue, I wish to be the hottest thing in the sky. Sadly, I’ll be an infrared Super giant, just wasting up space. Maybe I’m not to know why I can’t see the stars. I’m not meant to know the mysteries, after all, a good magician never reveals his tricks. Tonight I’ll look up towards them, infinity between us, I’ll speak to them; I still can’t see you during daylight. I can’t hear the left side of the sky, it’s whispers clouded by Andromeda. However, this stellar disappearing act has allowed one piece of light to shine through the cloud cover and dust I’ve collected. They’ve helped me finish the poem.
Apr 3, 2013
Apr 3, 2013 at 3:09 PM UTC
.
Some hold it true that Erin's creamy skin
Is clearly fairest in both grain and hue;
And I have seen such porcelain skin as hin-
ted quite convincingly that this was true.
Some hold it true the Aztec's nut-brown hide
(Made with Quetzal's chocolate from long ago)
Is fairest, and understandably deride
The purblind eyes of those who do not know.
And others, still, prefer a different cast,—
A different color, texture, shade, and tone.
And most enjoy a rude debate on taste.
I argue not, but leave them all alone:
I'd rather go and dream a blissful dream
Of chocolate skin wet-kist with Irish cream.
*
Mar 11, 2015
Mar 11, 2015 at 1:41 PM UTC
LOBOLA
Let me drift you away from the idea that lobola is buying your wife. No! It isn't. As black families, we believe that parents raise kids and once the kids have grown and are independent they get to now take care of their parents. Now! We know that once you get married, that might change because now you will be having your own family to take care of. We know that as men, that never really changes...you still get to take care of your parents and a family of your own hence there is no lobola for men. Now as women, we acknowledge that you are going to get married and go live by your in-laws or some place else and traditionally it is believed that you are never to come back home since you have been "taken". Understandably so because you are now part of a certain family and have broken the cord from yours. Fast forward to lobola therefore as a man who is taking away a woman from a family which she was taking care of, you ought to leave them with something so that they may continue living or surviving since you are taking away their "bread winner". Back in the days lobola was paid by cows, because with livestock you are rich and can survive for many years. The idea of lobola started being an issue and misunderstanding when it converted to hard cash. Which shouldn't have because it is still the same concept...with a certain amount of money you should be able to take care of your family and survive. How lobola got misinterpreted as buying your wife is not well understood however it could be presumed that it is because of the attributes that contributes to the price tagging. Your behaviour, achievements, ability to reproduce etc are what contributes to the billing. Which honestly shouldn't be an issue because parents know that with the achievements that you have you were going to take care of them well...very well. With the manners that you have...you will respect your husband and be obedient towards him. You will bear kids for your husband and gave a big family. Everyone is happy. All in all to able to understand the concept of lobola you have to understand culture and tradition but you are going to say "times have changed" and you are now modernised.
Mar 19, 2016
Mar 19, 2016 at 5:18 AM UTC
We never talked
Anymore
And when we did
The conversation
dripped
Like a dried up
Desert stream
Funny how then he’d seem
Like a tidal wave of talk
Not letting my words walk
Anywhere
Near his extremely important
Ten minute
Explanation
In which he’d sum up that day’s
Cartoons, football matches, car trouble, his hard day of work that ended at lunch
How drunk he got after work, how drunk he was going to get that night
While he fetted without a slight
Thought of me.
So understandably
He was exhausted
And couldn’t
Wouldn’t
Didn’t want to hear
My ten minuets
Of how I missed
The boy who kissed
Me
At a movie theater
Read all my pathetic poetic
Love letters
Told me I was a better
Writer than I thought
Fought for me
Drove across highways for me
Was in love with me truly, madly, deeply
Who told me constantly
That he loved me
When I didn’t believe it
He loved me
When I didn’t want to hear it
He loved me
When I’d just finished crying
He loved me
I miss the boy who never made me feel
Alone
Whose cell phone
Didn’t mind listening to my voice
And given the choice
Would listen to it
All night
Long.
But that boy’s gone.
And I’m left to pick up conversation
With this
Affectionless alien.
Aug 10, 2012
Aug 10, 2012 at 10:39 PM UTC
You are not a Roman
In life, no matter your country, we do as the Romans do
If you are not a Roman you will be unhappy
Romans go to school and have high school sweethearts
They get good jobs, get married, reproduce, retire and die
It is a wonderful thing to the Romans.
The right thing
The only thing
Just as long as it doesn’t get interrupted by tragedies like cancer, cults, art, or radical political opinions
The Romans like
Action! that releases adrenalin
Fatty, sugary, salty foods
Endorphins
Catchy musical patterns
Games!
Catchphrases
And love stories *** tee hee)
There are a million ways to not be a Roman,
But most roads lead to Rome
The Romans smile on those who do as the Romans do
They adore freedom
To be anything you want to be
To be yourself
To be as the Romans are
Why would it be any other way?
Would you be angry at a dog ******* on a fire hydrant?
They are instinct devoid of the context that created it
The Romans don’t understand Why? anyone would want to do Otherwise
Clearly
The Romans
(Quite understandably mind you)
Understand
Who wouldn't want all this?
The only thing I want is you
We'll live on the outskirts of Rome
Eating Thai fusion
Discovering new chemicals for our brains
Electricity
That still registers a signal
The movies we've seen
Before
And before that
We'll wave at the strangers in a strange land
A dried-up decaying laugh track
Dust dancing in time
A place I care less and less about every day
Every
*******
Minute
Jan 29, 2014
Jan 29, 2014 at 8:10 PM UTC
I'm completely in complete need of nothing to feel complete,
It's this I love to feel but not always can I free my soul enough to attain.
I'm understandably paling in comparison to me, myself, but it won't stop stop changing.
I'm ridiculed every time I speak! Nobody hears by who, I guess its only me.
Why is it that I meet myself with such resistance before I stop and think about it?
I'm trained, brained into me, the train won't stop
Dec 27, 2010
Dec 27, 2010 at 7:11 PM UTC
My psychic energies are energized , warm, and strong
Signaling waves of physical feeling, warmth of a beating heart felt, and ****** moves exchanged.
Though miles apart, we are physically and in soul, together.Real.
Our blood flows through our veins and we appear to each other as our bodies sweat and touch is fused and cannot be changed.
The lightening sounds as we make love over waves so real
Sensual rhythms so bold and understandably near
we fuse together.
Real love and the desire for one another satisfied
as the remote seduction pleasurably brings our bodies to wet and desired ******
Forever.
We long for our lives to become just as fused as our psychic bodies..
we know the attraction is here…
we both ****** under a huge yellow moon….
as destiny dictates the night of lust and also deep love
between two people from two far away places
Sweat draws full and near…
Our hearts begin to swoon….
as we celebrate our need and wanting for one another
in pure exotic form..
we are now physically and soulfully an art-form alike no other..
The ritual of the senses is a fire that rages on..
Until we return to our originating soul’s taken up places….
We know we never need to feel alone or deep in separation from our bodies..souls…and love..
For we can fly, at will, remotely to greet one another as our eyes
lock
as we enjoy admiring one another’s beauty and faces.
Oct 22, 2019
Oct 22, 2019 at 10:24 PM UTC
The brother said he had rhythm
In mind I was imprisoned with suspicion
that he had played me as if he had rhythm
Inbetween them sheets my intention was to go into a ****** dimension
(Prevention)
that's what I forgot before I found out I had a infection, no protection
You had had me then you had bag me going in I knew he was a felon,
but that attracted me and rated him to be my lucky number seven
He was curious so we agreed that this secret was going to be victorious understandably I am seductive and he was more then just impulsive he was destructive
So he that inconsiderable wannabe thought he was gone be runner up for my nominee,
But that would never happen he had ****** me with venom so I shown him door to get out and never let me see him or his so called rhythm
Aug 30, 2015
Aug 30, 2015 at 8:17 PM UTC
ducks dive
into darkness
i'm abandoned, boring, bench-bound
creaking knee
sullen hands that tear apart my sullen bread
cedar trees
mean nothing
with their whispers. they're mere trifles;
chill leftover secrets.
understandably i don't unwind.
i did not.
life coils, in this moment
i did not.
imagining tomorrow
beneath those pitch black mirror-lakes
my skin a swan
eyes shut.
(goodnight.)
May 10, 2012
May 10, 2012 at 3:32 PM UTC
36 hours...
Hanna called out to her friend Jory at
8:00am
She walked ther ten year-old brother to school at
9:30am
Afterschool, she hung out with her multiple friends and rode the train to Central Park,
She arrived home at
12:00 am
and her father soundly beat her.
Understandably.
24 hours...
Hanna skipped the first two classes and arrived at school at
11:49 am
She made out with her first boyfriend, Marcus, behind the dark school stairs during lunch.
Than, at
1:46 pm
during Calculus, Angela, her best friend, subtly slipped
some **** into her knockoff bag.
At
10:35 pm
Hanna fell asleep reading Hamlet.
12 hours...
Hanna found out Angela was in a serious street accident yesterday, but she had made it.
Yet, she decided no to visit and go to school
solving Angela's problems for her.
30 minutes...
Hanna broke up with Marcus and went back to those same stairs to think.
15 minutes...
She picked herself up, but left behind her knockoff.
2 minutes...
She decided not to pickup her brother.
Almost...
There...
Instantaneously.
Now Hanna exists only in our minds,
only to really live through my mouth.
Where she was last, her toes were bare,
her knees bent.
A classic diver's pose;
arms out.
A perfect splash, barely caused a ripple.
The audience, a monarch, flitting through and quiet.
May 8, 2015
May 8, 2015 at 6:35 AM UTC