Tag: poems

Pillows

icaruswithwarmwingsLeave a comment

Why do you enjoy reading

people’s screams that live in

Pillows that arent yours?

Is your pillow empty? (it’s not)

Are there screams that are especially beautiful?

And for that matter is there a scale?

or do we just “like” some people’s pain more than other’s or even our own?

Pillows are meant to capture sound

but for me i empty mine out

fun sized pain

spilling on the hardwood floor

you read all that i’ve got

and you sort it however you see fit

and pick and choose

what gets traded

and what gets kept.

Better Down Feather Pillow | The Company Store
Credit: TheCompanyStore

why is it? you.

icaruswithwarmwingsLeave a comment
Credit:https://pixels.com/featured/aztec-sun-olga-ponomareva.html

a brick wall,

why is it that when I lean into you

like a brick wall you can support me

or cause my world to tumble down

brick by brick

like a brick wall

warm,

why is it that when I put my neck on your shoulder

it’s warm and comforting

even though

sometimes

it shouldn’t be

on a hot day.

why is it that on a hot day when it is dry and breathing is a chore

you make me so happy to just be there

to just enjoy

the

way

things are

and you’re there

why is it that when I see you

I know you’re there

when

even you don’t really know if that’s true

smiling.

why is it that when you smile

even when i scowl back at you

you still manage to make me happy

Itchy

icaruswithwarmwingsLeave a comment

I have a bad case of itchy foot

The itchy foot runs through my leg

When I itch the itch it numbs my toes

Through my foot it goes

And all the way into my calf

It feels like the beginning of poison oak

The sweltering alergic reaction

That has plagued me since days old

I feel the familiar itch

The friendly ooze

The glorious disgusting hot irritated mess that is poison oak

But not quite

It’s just one singular bulb

One little plague bubonic

A tiny little boil

A reminder of bare feet in mosquito territory

A reminder like a cracked phone screen

Or a scar on your arm

Something you see everyday

A reminder of something you forgot

Like her face in my camera roll

Like looking back at just how perfect it has been

Because so often I took photos when things were good

When I wasn’t staring at a blank google doc

An image stamped in my skull

When it was incredible

Or when it was supremely funny

Or when it hurt like a mountain insurmountable

And when I scroll back and see these myrtle memories

For an instant I feel that excitement that takes me back

That yearning for days old

But not for a million dollars

Not for an ounce of that love that I felt

Would I miss a second of the now

It’s weird

But I scratched the itch

And honestly it doesn’t itch anymore

To a Stranger in Brooklyn Heights

faithfulomnivoreLeave a comment

Dear stranger in Brooklyn Heights,

I don’t know much about you, but I can infer some things.

I think you are someone who cares about your belongings.

Like your copy of Spoon River Anthology, for example.

Photo Credit: pinterest.com

I think you care about it because you stamped it twice – once inside the front cover and once inside the back.

Maybe you just didn’t want to lose it and for it to be returned to you if it ever did get lost. But, if that’s the case, how did it end up in a used bookstore in a town 3,000 miles away?

I would want to know which poems are your favorites, but it seems like you never read them. The pages are nearly perfect, despite being printed in 1962.

I wish I could ask you some questions.

How old were you when you bought it? How old are you now? Why didn’t you read it? How did it end up with me?

I don’t know who you are, but I want to say thank you. Your book that was originally sold for 95 cents is now my book that was sold to me for three dollars.

And now I have a story within a story, thanks to you.

I’m not sure if you still live in New York or if any of my assumptions about you were correct or if you’re even a person at all.

But just in case I was right, once I finish the book, I’ll send it back to you.

 

Poetry Based Off of Songs

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The Beautiful & Damned 

The Beautiful,

a delicate rose.

Small and light in a sea of others,

Bright and beautiful,

Photo Credit: defiantart.com

silky-smooth petals,

like a gentle caress.

The Damned.

Crimson red like its fallen petals.

Damned in the colors of rust and blood.

Tainted with thorns,

hidden in the layers of the silk petals.

Sharp and deadly,

Hidden in beauty.

Colorless (Colors – Halsey)

Side note: i wrote this poem for an english assignment where I had to write a poem using words from a song.

You’re colorful like a saturated sunrise.

Glowing with red, orange, and pink,

but like an overflowing sink.

Your colors seep

and it covers me in blue.

The same blue as you.

The blue of your pills, hands, and jeans.

Photo Credit: paintings.pinotspalette.com

The same blue as you,

but unlike the day’s blue sky

and the night’s starry light.

Your blue’s dark,

a starless night,

an empty sight.

And like a black and white book;

Your mind’s the pages,

your thoughts the ink.

And they’re grey just like your dreams.

Your body’s the pages,

tattoos the ink.

But they’re grey, just as you think.

And I rip at every edge of your masterpiece,

but you’re so devoid of color,

you’re colorless.

courage

mariethearistocatLeave a comment

last night, i cried so hard that my ears hurt.

today, i woke up with my throat screaming,

too dry to open my mouth and let air in.

my pillows were still wet,

my eyes still puffy.

when i plopped out of bed,

my knees and shoulders ached

and i buckled under my own weight.

sometimes you wake up with the difficulties of yesterday.

people will spout condolences or positive, affirming quotes,

but no amount of rainbows and hanging cats

could make my heart stop diving down into

the pit of my hollow stomach.

because, it takes a lot,

a whole lot of courage

to leave your hollow space

in the one corner of your bed

when all you want to do

is build a brick wall around it.

Photo Credit: pinterest.com

it takes a whole lot of courage

to let prying eyes bore into your soul

wondering what they can do to help.

it’s hard to face yourself in the mirror

and pick out all the things you’d like to change.

it’s hard being blue

in a world of yellows.

and, yet, you get out of bed.

you brush your hair

and you put on makeup.

you put on your brave face,

because staying in bed all day is one way to cope,

but, it takes courage,

not more or less,

just

courage

to live your life.

red hoods

mariethearistocatLeave a comment

I.

you remember me as a pensive, emotional soul.

you remember the intricate, twisty inner-workings of my mind.

you were always “there” for me when i needed you.

that’s why it took me so long.

maybe i was so used to the comfort of your shadow

that it never dawned on me to leave it.

i deserve the shine you always used to get.

it’s been hard accepting some of it now,

now that you’re gone.

you still pop up every now and then,

but the pain you bring is only temporary.

thank god.

II.

we never were close.

but, you and i learned to

live with each other.

we got wrapped up in our long conversations,

laughing at the carefully placed jokes.

but, you’re a hard pill to swallow,

the fact that i’ll never be enough for you.

cool enough.

funny enough.

kind enough.

enough.

so, even if it’s hard for me now,

i just have to take a deep breath,

close my eyes,

and force myself to take you in.

III.

you’re a sheep in wolf’s clothes.

Photo Credit: pinterest.com

your little red riding hood is enough to

hide your long, wiry fur,

your sharp, gutting claws.

i’m just a cookie in your basket,

as you skipped along the pebbly path

to grandma’s house.

i’m just tired of falling out

and you letting me crumble to pieces.

A Big, Calming Hug

mariethearistocat

It happens in an instant,

the moment they become distant.

Each memory merely a snapshot,

frozen in your mind.

Smile for the picture,

a big, calming hug goodbye,

no more little tears left to cry.

Now there are only real tears,

the ones that come from your biggest fears,

the ones that leave you empty,

a body heaving for air,

for love,

for a nice, calming hug.

No.

There are no more reassuring words,

from the one that makes your whole world.

No more smiles as you bite into your freshly baked cookie,

no more cheers on the soccer field,

no more hugs when you’re sad,

no more hugs when you’re glad,

no more,

no more.

Is it nice to miss class when you want?

Is it nice to get “mental health days?”

WHAT THE HECK.

It is NOT nice to have to miss class to see a therapist,

to talk about “feelings” and ways to help your crippling anxiety,

when missing class causes even more stress,

then being there.

It is NOT nice to stay in bed gasping for air,

tears everywhere,

in your hair,

eyes,

pillow,

sheets.

It is NOT nice to lose a parent to cancer.

It is NOT nice to hear your condolences.

Don’t think of yourself as a hero for saying “sorry.”

Don’t fling around a word you don’t mean.

Don’t tell me you know how I’m feeling.

JUST LEAVE.

I don’t want a hug,

not from you.

I only want a big, calming hug.

If only I had the person here to give it to me.null

Man of Fury

displacedlocalLeave a comment


I am a man of fire and fury

I leave a wake of destruction and fire in my path

As I cross oceans they become steam.

Deserts become mountain ranges of glass in my wake.

I walk through cities and around me civilization Is gone.