Z - Hello Poetry

Z Dec 2012

x
marks the spot,
on my hand,
where i take yours gently,
just on command.

x
marks the spot,
on my lips,
where i taste you,
and your lackluster kiss.

x
marks the spot,
on my heart,
where i keep all the things,
that could tear me apart.

x
marks the spot,
on my soul,
where i keep all the secrets,
that have never been told.

x
marks the spot,
on my arm,
where i keep all the anger,
in the form of a scar.

x
marks the spot,
on my eyes,
where i keep all the bad things,
the terrible lies.

x
marks the spot,
where i sit and jot
down every thought,
hoping i don't get caught,
believe it or not,
and that no one ever finds,
the x,
that marks all these spots.

Z Dec 2012

what if..

when i was little,
i used to read those books,
you know,
by shel silverstein?
where the sidewalk ends,
and
a light in the attic?
there was a poem in one,
and it went like this:
"Last night, while I lay thinking here,
some Whatifs crawled inside my ear
and pranced and partied all night long
and sang their same old Whatif song:
Whatif I'm dumb in school?
Whatif they've closed the swimming pool?
Whatif I get beat up?
Whatif there's poison in my cup?
Whatif I start to cry?
Whatif I get sick and die?
Whatif I flunk that test?
Whatif green hair grows on my chest?
Whatif nobody likes me?
Whatif a bolt of lightning strikes me?
Whatif I don't grow taller?
Whatif my head starts getting smaller?
Whatif the fish won't bite?
Whatif the wind tears up my kite?
Whatif they start a war?
Whatif my parents get divorced?
Whatif the bus is late?
Whatif my teeth don't grow in straight?
Whatif I tear my pants?
Whatif I never learn to dance?
Everything seems well, and then
the nighttime Whatifs strike again!"
and that poem sticks in my head,
a lot.
because,
really,
"whatif's" control my every thought.
my "whatif's" keep me,
all in check,
when they breathe their "whatif's",
on my neck.
they keep me waiting,
watching,
and wary,
"whatif" life, wasn't so scary?
"whatif" i could live,
and not be so afraid,
"whatif" i was sure,
of the choices i've made?
i guess i'll find out soon,
but "whatif" i don't.
to be honest i'm scared,
that maybe i won't.

just rambling, kind of. that poem gets stuck in my head all the time, just like a lot of other Shel Silverstein poems. so. yep!

Z Dec 2012

visions (in my head).

i have this vision in my head,
it comes each night when i lay in bed.
i lay in the dark, as quiet as can be,
and listen to the wind as it whispers through the trees.
the wind it whispers, things you never said,
as i pull back my blankets, and sneak out of my bed.
i tiptoe down the stairs, across the old wood floor,
then i pass right by the kitchen, and slip out my back porch door.
i walk out into the moonlight, as the wind blows back my hair,
and for a second i can hear your voice, it's almost like you're there.
for me it's so hard to admit, that the you i knew is gone,
sometimes i try to close my eyes, and pretend that nothing's wrong.
my feet come to the cold concrete,
to the place where the grass and sidewalk meet.
i stare into the cold dark night,
and the moon gives off a silver light.
from there i'm stuck in memories,
and the wind still whispers in the trees.
across my skin it sends a chill, i hear 'i love you kid, and always will'.
but i know the words come from the sky,
a sick illusion from my aching mind.
the match it strikes, the fire burns,
with each inhale, my stomach turns.
my insides twist, as i start to cry,
the tears fall slowly from my tired eyes.
you see,
this cigarette is like you now,
in so many different ways,
it knows the feeling of my lips,
*but the smoke, it never stays.

Z Dec 2012

unique.

the only thing i truly seek,
is a way to be
my own kind of unique.
the things i think,
the way i speak,
all contribute,
to being unique.
my own style,
my own technique,
my own way,
to be
unique.

Z Dec 2012

tick. tock. time.

remember that rhyme?
the one about time?
with the mouse, and the house,
and the tick-tock of the clock?
hickory, dickory dock,
i'm like a mouse,
stuck in a clock.
the time it ticks,
the time it tocks,
and you and i,
we stick,
and talk.
and you tell me about your life,
and how she's hurt you so,
and i sit here and wonder,
if you even know.
you hurt me the same,
in case it doesn't show.
i felt for you.
love.
and hope.
and i held on,
even at the end of my rope.
until my hands were burned,
and my arms were sore,
and i couldn't hold on,
to nothing anymore.
and even then i held, still,
fought against my body,
and my brains will,
because my heart,
would simply ****,
to feel your touch,
to know that thrill.
but eventually time,
it ripped you away,
i could not hold on,
i could not stay,
what could be done was done,
what i could, i did say.
and still you pulled that rope away.
i thought you were my life line,
that one day,
you might be mine.
but you aren't,
and you weren't,
and you never will,
because even though it hurts,
you love her still.
time heals all wounds,
or at least thats what i'm told,
and in the winter nights,
when your cold heart keeps you cold,
i hope you know that i could have been yours,
to have and to hold,
only if i would have told,
if only i could have been so bold.
hickory, dickory, dock.
the mouse ran up the clock,
the clock struck "done",
the mouse ran down,
hickory,
dickory,
dock.

I worked really ******* this. And I really like the flow of it when I read it out loud.

Z Dec 2012

sensing sadness.

i think in a way,
i can sense sadness.
and even though it's different for everyone,
sadness has a way of sensing me, too.

i've always been attracted to those types of people.
you know the kind i'm talking about.
with their sad smiles, and deep eyes.
the kind of people who have a story,
the kind of people who have scars.

those people are my kind of people.
you, first, with your parents divorce,
and your bottled up rage,
and the bruises you gave to me in the middle of the night,
in the bedroom on the first floor,
while everyone else was asleep.
the sadness you carried turned into rage,
and i fought to keep you in check.

and then you,
with your closet secrets,
and the dust swept under your rug.
your sadness seeped through those guards on your eyes,
and found its way right into my heart.
you etched yourself into my life,
until the sadness you felt,
i felt myself,
and your soft touches,
and sweet words,
melted into me.
and then it was all gone,
taken away in a flash,
and you walked away without a second glance.

you, next,
with your ever lasting smiles,
and modest attitude.
you never understand how much fun you are,
because you're so focused and caught up in being sad.
i saw stories in your eyes,
and the more stories i heard,
the more i learned why you were sad all the time.
but i wish the most for you, and i wish more than anything that you could be happy.
but sad people well,
they're made to be sad.
but you kept me in check.
we would talk for hours,
about pet names, and would you rathers,
and truths that i told no one but you.
and for awhile there,
i thought you could make me happy.
but our sadness together was too much,
and i ran and hid from the happiness
that i might have found in you.

you, finally,
you weren't the saddest,
or the happiest.
in fact, when i met you,
i didnt even think you were a sad person.
until i saw what she did to you,
how she broke you.
you are sad,
but because of your secrets.
because there's nothing else for you to do but hide.
you should be able to be yourself,
and live your life how you want to.

thats the thing though,
about sadness,
us sad people,
we cling to it.
we hold on to it.
and we learn to depend on it.
because,
"you can get addicted to certain kind of sadness."
and thats that.

mostly just rambling. but its all true.

Z Dec 2012

resistance.

a little give,
a little take,
watch it bend,
but it doesn't break.
it resists the pressure,
and snaps back into place.
resistance.
noun.
1. the act or power of resisting, opposing, or withstanding.
although powerful thoughts can be quite demanding.
to do it or not?
fight off the thoughts,
resist.
resist the urge,
to binge and purge,
yourself in negative things.
lost and lowly,
carefully, and slowly,
resist the pain resistance brings.