Category: poetry

Mister Sandman

localdreamerwithapenLeave a comment

Won’t you go to someone else’s head?

There’s no space for you underneath my bed frame

To hide and pull me through my sheets

To mark my skin with claws and fear.

Call me weak and laugh at me

Because you took my tears and pretty dreams

Replaced them with nightmares

And acid

And cold sweat.

Blue and purple thoughts are eating through my brain

Like a virus would spread through its host.

I am your host,

Credit: i.pinimg.com

 

You are my uninvited guest,

Destroying my home

While I lay in bed and don’t do a thing,

Staring at the ceiling above me,

Watching it brittle and fall apart.

And you stay.

You stay and you crawl back under my bed.

You stay and you soak my pillows in black paint.

You stay and you hold my hand to break it.

You stay and you do it all over again.

roadblock

mariethearistocatLeave a comment

falling in love is like learning to drive.

at first, you stop too often,

jumpy,

and look

left and right 

left and right 

left and right

before easing your way into

the intersection.

you make your first turn;

you drive past another car

unscathed.

you learn how to

drive on your side of the road,

learn the

boundaries

of your lane.

Photo Credit: pinterest.com

before you know it,

before it hits you,

you’re picking up speed,

forgetting to turn on your signals.

you start to yield less at night,

but hey,

you haven’t hit anyone yet.

now, you have your permit,

liscence,

your first car.

freeways are nice to speed on

because you like the feeling

of the wind

whipping

across your face.

you feel your heart

race

when you run through your first red.

you drive on,

for years and years

without a crash.

you never stop to

think

anymore.

why should you?

it’s only to the store.

i’ve been there so often.

nothing will happen to me.

but,

you forget about the

sneaky,

little stop sign

after that one turn.

and

BOOM,

CRASH

you’re done.

no more DMV waits

for those

gosh darn renewals.

you wake up

in a hospital

with bleary eyes and

a broken body.

next time,

if there is one,

make sure to

stop

before you

crash and burn.

remember to love fast,

but stay safe, kid.

A Barbie doll

faithfulomnivoreLeave a comment

A Barbie doll is perfect:

you can see it all over her.

She has lots of friends, it seems.

the list of names grows each day.

Image Credit: Amazon.com

With every new season

comes a new friend for Barbie,

and also a new Barbie.

The old ones are packed away

and forgotten.

There are so many to choose from,

who should we play with today?

Barbie dolls aren’t just for girls,

the boys love her too.

A Barbie doll is fake.

Be careful, Barbie,

If you stretch yourself too thin,

you’ll break.

Barbie does everything, it seems;

she tries so hard to not try.

 

She spends hours

making herself look effortless.

But Barbie isn’t special.

There are millions of other Barbie dolls,

they could buy her anywhere.

But she’s still Barbie,

so they don’t mind.

Barbie sparkles when she walks.

But when you get to know her, after a while,

she gets boring.

A Barbie doll shouldn’t talk,

so why does she talk so much?

Too much talk is bad.

Trends are temporary.

Yours has come,

when will it be gone?

I used to love Barbie

when I was younger and naive.

Not anymore.

A Barbie doll is plastic:

you can see right through her.

All My Fault

rufusdespacitoLeave a comment

All I can think is it’s my fault.

The heart beating as one, eyes seeing as one, love and devotion for the sport and for each other connecting as one, but all of this is leaving, disappearing when all I can think when I’m lying alone, is that it is my fault.

I can hear the hooves beating maybe way up above me but that is not where they are supposed to be, that is not where she is supposed to be, she is supposed to be next to me, down here, in my arms, not up there in the heaven, away from me and my life but as I’m drifting away in my emotions all I can think is it is my fault.

Even with all the people dying, and the children crying, and the murders, shootings, and the bombings happening in the world, all I can think is that it is my fault.

The disease creeps up on her like a kidnapper sneaks up on his kid, the beautiful angel, my best friend, all I can think is that it is my fault.

Maybe if I had checked her temperature again, or her nose, or her stomach it wouldn’t be my fault, but I didn’t; I left in a hurry, not thinking about the consequences, not thinking about what my life was for six years; not thinking at all, and I was the last person to ride her, to see her, before my trainer came, the vet came, and all the sirens and gunshots and noise in the world froze, and time came to a stop, the world stopped its rotation, the crickets froze their legs, my heart took its final beat before I was told the news… My mom spoke very slow but the words crept up to me, I tried to bat them away but they fought back throwing me against the wall forcing me to listen to what I thought was the impossible, I kicked and I screamed and I thrust myself away from the inevitable but the words felt like ice against my heart, “she’s sick,” she says and from then on the only thing that matters, the only thing that is keeping me up at night, and keeps my heart racing is that it is my fault.

And if this truly is the end, I know I need to be by her side, away from the noise and the chaos, and everything else because she is what matters, my best friend, the only one that would listen, who I can talk endlessly to, I can trust with my life and darkest secrets, because even when the clocks stop turning and the world stops moving, and the sun stops shining, and the birds stop chirping, and the people stop talking, and the hearts stop beating, and the voices quiet, and the earth fades away, admitting the darkening, skin crawling silence, it will still be my fault.

 

Prisma<3 From: sanaapharayrastables.com

 

Ballerinas

rufusdespacitoLeave a comment

A tight backstage room.
Fumes from hairspray intoxicating a tight backstage room.
Chaos,
bobby-pins, tan and black,
flying aimlessly.
It is hot backstage,
the walls the color of earl gray tea.
The toes of the apparently perfect, are broken, bruised, concealed inside pretty pink slippers delicately touching the chalk buckets in every corner of the room.
Pandemonium.
Bustling people elegantly dressed in every color imaginable.
Feathers,
diamonds,
flowers,
leotards,
point shoes,
tights,
tutus.
Dancers racing around behind the curtains struggling to find their cue.
The frightened ballerinas pacing backstage,
with visions of turns and leaps dancing in their heads.
Dance ballerina to the sound of the classical piano.
All the chaos backstage concealed from the elegance on stage.
All concealed from the wealthy parents sitting in velvet chairs.

All concealed from the rest of the world.

All concealed in a tight backstage room.

Nutcracker Ballet From: lifesylepubs.wordpress.s3-us-west-2.amazonaws.com

 

Discoloration

rufusdespacitoLeave a comment

Visions of gray filled up my wondering eyes.

The somber haze lingered in the moist air.

The drab flowers filled up my already melancholy mind.

The first day we met the visions of gray disappeared,

Faded away.

The opal skies meet my eyes.

The green burst from the sidewalk cracks,

Fuchsia flowers graced the abundance of colors appearing around them.

White antique pearls hung from the wealthy’s necks,

As the hazelnut colored shoes wrapped the feet of the poor.

My eyes wandered and landed on you,

The one who brought color,

Who filled my life with wonder.

My feelings reached deeper than the dark blue lingering in the depth of the ocean,

And higher than the crystal mountain tops towering over the towns and people within them.

The sapphire dreams of you filled my mind.

The day you left the color disappeared;

The gray swept into my mind like a mother sweeping away her family’s mess,

And the gray returned as if you were never here.

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The Summertime Blues

whynotstayinLeave a comment

The summertime blues whisper to me,

they caress and seduce,

they ask

Am I going to regret that?

Photo Credit: Chicago Blues Bar

 

Not taking them up on that offer.

Am I going to regret what I’m doing to myself?

Am I doing it to myself?

Is there something wrong with me?

Why am I no good at conversation?

why are you boring?

Why do I feel that when I open my mouth everyone is just waiting for me to shut it?

Why do I think a helping hand is offered in pity, forced on by “good will”?

because it is.

I tag along on other people’s words.

Photo Credit: Forensic Medicine for Medical Students

how annoying can she get?

I can’t meet people’s eyes.

what if they actually see me.

no, I want them too see me.

do I?

so, eyes flit away.

Do my hands shake or do I imagine that?

Why does it seem easier to go it alone than to give people the chance to push me out?

Why does it feel like everybody stares?

Photo Credit: Harvard Business Review

All eyes on me.

no eyes on me.

no eyes on me.

delusion to assume you took center stage, the spotlight’s not on you it’s on the person next to you, Narcissus. 

No words left.

Their eyes and hearts and minds wait, full of pity.

But what if I didn’t give them the chance?

But what if I didn’t give them the chance?

summer loving

mariethearistocatLeave a comment
Photo Credit: tumblr.com

Summer, I’m going to miss you.

More than the ocean misses the shore.

I’m going to miss

Your eternally messed up sandy hair

Falling on your imperfect face.

The way your eyes remind me of waves,

Dark, deep blue and full of life.

The way your tan, calloused hand fits mine,

While we stroll on the beach,

Getting the insides of our feet scratched up

By the sand.

Our long bike rides on the PCH,

Filled with me falling over and getting scratched up.

Our midnight conversations

Of love, loss, and tacos,

Hidden in fluffy pillows and blanket forts.

The eternal battle of cuddling

Or not sweating for the rest of the night.

The polaroid sessions that will soon

Become only pictures on my wall,

Instead of hours of laughter and music.

The hours of reading poetry by your side,

Breathing in the rhymes and feeling.

The car rides to Safeway and Trader Joe’s

To pick up sunscreen and cheap wine.

The bonfires on the beach, in the backyard,

And by the stove.

The books filled with stories

Just like ours,

But they just don’t capture

The way we loved.

The Netflix movies that

Showed a coffee lover falling for tea drinker

Or a bunch of rebellious teenagers

Falling in love for the first time,

Just like us.

The mornings filled with iced coffee,

But don’t forget the creamer, love.

The study sessions featuring

Paper, paper, and more paper

Waiting to be filled with endless scrawls of notes.

But, most of all, summer,

I’m going to miss the way you made me feel,

The way I was your season of fun,

When we loved like

The ocean loves the shore.

romeo lost

mariethearistocat1 Comment

poets only write about love and love lost,

but what about the time afterward?

what about the times when i see you my heart breaks,

not because i miss you,

but i miss the feeling of you.

the feeling of you on my neck,

the feeling of you in my arms,

the feeling of you on the other end of the line.

you weren’t a classic romeo.

you were one with trails of cigarette smoke and a bright red motorcycle,

instead of shiny, chain-link armor and a glistening white horse.

Photo Credit: buzzfeed.com

your eyes hold the past.

the past hour-long laughing fits,

the past midnight ice cream runs,

the past nights we slept under the stars.

i wish i could kiss you one more time,

not because i like you,

but because i liked the void you filled.

what about when i see her for the first time, this new me.

Photo Credit: buzzfeed.com

she’s beautiful, blonde, bubbly.

everything that i wasn’t, she is.

she’s willing to go all in. i guess i wasn’t.

i guess i couldn’t stand up when you walked away.

i guess i couldn’t hold you the right way,

because now i’m holding empty space.

my bed is empty to my left because i can’t bear to roll over in case you’ll come back.

because sometimes i open old, dusty copy of shakespeare’s sonnets,

and imagine you in every one.

i wish he wrote about how to pick up the pieces when you’re broken,

because i keep cutting myself on broken glass.

I Miss Reading

whynotstayinLeave a comment

If summer means free time and free time means reading, summer therefore means reading…and catching up on shows.

Summer fever has hit hard. With new books on the way and old ones staring me down, my fingers physically itch. My brain angrily pounds at the inside of my skull.

All I want to be doing is reading the Devils of Loudun or Sherlock Holmes or A Court of Wings and Ruin.

Photo Credit: Huffington Post

This year especially, I have had difficultly finding moments to read. I never realized how integral it was to my life and happiness.

Not that I’m not happy, but this year has weighed heavier. I miss reading all the time. I feel less like me, just a little more unhappy, busy, insecure.

I miss the years where I could a read a book – and I mean a substantial book – every two or three days.

I want it to be summer so I can get back to taking time for myself, soaking in different worlds, recharging from a full year of nearly constant work.