Zara: Favorites

Jul 2013 Zara

Louise Glück

In the story of Patroclus
no one survives, not even Achilles
who was nearly a god.
Patroclus resembled him; they wore
the same armor.

Always in these friendships
one serves the other, one is less than the other:
the hierarchy
is always apparant, though the legends
cannot be trusted--
their source is the survivor,
the one who has been abandoned.

What were the Greek ships on fire
compared to this loss?

In his tent, Achilles
grieved with his whole being
and the gods saw
he was a man already dead, a victim
of the part that loved,
the part that was mortal.

Jul 2013 Zara

Sleepwalker

Jul 2013 Zara

Jai Rho

Sleepwalker

She was a fiction
of his imagination
and when she
beckoned he
would step out
sleepwalking

Destined for a fall
but not before
she vanished
in the waking hours

And then appeared
after the sun
before the moon
to catch him as
they lay down
beneath a blanket

of stars

Jul 2013 Zara

Untitled

Jul 2013 Zara

the kid

Untitled

In this all too small world of ours, some times two individuals as hard as they try
Are just not meant to be
In our situation this was the case
I truly felt like the odds were against us
I hate to admit it because in my sick mind I wanted it to work out so badly
But the sad truth is that it was beginning to become toxic
Toxic to the feel toxic to the touch toxic to even just the thought
We were drowning in our love sickness
I am still struggling to breathe even now
My **** heart is to big for my chest
It has since then become swollen with emotion
I am treading water in a pool of sorrow
I hate to play this broken hearted card
but this is the hand I have been dealt

Jul 2013 Zara

And their feet move

Jul 2013 Zara

Sappho

And their feet move

And their feet move
rhythmically, as tender
feet of Cretan girls
danced once around an

altar of love, crushing
a circle in the soft
smooth flowering grass

Jul 2013 Zara

Love Stained Lips

Jul 2013 Zara

ineffable wonder

Love Stained Lips

The words that left her lips
Asking about the boy with blue eyes
Curious mutters echoed
As she gazed across the room

The words that left her lips
Befriending a quiet boy
Sweet hello's over the phone
She smiled to herself

The words that left her lips
Expressed a profound feeling
The sound of passion filled sighs
"I love you"

The words that left her lips
Were pleading for him not to go
Broken cries towards the open door
Speaking to a soul long gone

The words that left her lips
Listing every one of his features
Tired yawns directed at the ceiling from
Brokenhearted nights still spent on him

The words that left her lips
Were somewhat tragic whispers
Of sadness filling the empty air
As she breathed her last goodbye

A.B.

Jul 2013 Zara

piano bench

Jul 2013 Zara

madeline may

piano bench

you sat on the piano bench
and i sat on the floor
we talked about our fathers
we shared our lonely childhoods
broken bones, broken hearts
i decided i could listen to your voice for hours
you told me you wanted to be a pianist
and i offered to teach you guitar
i played stevie nicks for you
and you said you didn't sing
but your voice is beautiful
and i wish you'd sing for me
you told me about the songs you like
and i went home and made a playlist
it's four months later and i have every song memorized
in alphabetical order

you told me you didn't believe in love
but i know real love and i know forced "love"
and i know i've loved you since that day in september
when you told me i had beautiful handwriting
and i'll never forget how you looked at me
instead of the paper
when the words drifted through the stuffy third-floor air
and i didn't even know your name

so for now i listen to your songs on repeat
and look forward to tomorrow
i just wish i'd kissed you
that evening of the recital
on that ****** piano bench

i haven't written a poem for you in months
i want that night back because it's a side of you i haven't seen since you told me you liked her

Jul 2013 Zara

Unofficial Farewell

Jul 2013 Zara

Briana4545

Unofficial Farewell

I’m not the same girl
I used to be.
Then again, maybe I am
the same,
and it’s everyone
and everything else
that’s different.
Maybe I’m just not adapting
to the changes in my environment.
Maybe I’m still the
idealistic twelve year old
who read romance novels
and ate ice cream while watching Titanic.
Maybe I’m still the
anorexic fourteen year old
who smiled when the number on the scale dropped
and cried when it didn’t.
Maybe I’m still the
ambitious sixteen year old,
striving to put her life back together
and get laid before prom.
(Without much success, of course.)
Maybe I’m still the
infatuated seventeen year old
who fell madly in love with a geeky college boy,
only to get her heart broken.
Maybe I’m just
an eighteen year old basket case
who drinks too much
and smokes too much
and ***** random boys (and girls)
with all the lights off
because she hates her body just as much when she’s drunk
as she does when she’s sober.
Maybe I have changed.
Maybe I never will.
Maybe in the end,
however soon or far off that may be,
I’ll look back and laugh
at my complete and utter stupidity
and inability
to stop thinking and just start
living.
Maybe I’m already dead inside
and just waiting for my body to follow.

I don't intend to leave you all behind,
but I’m beginning to think I already have.