I am frustrated,
For no matter how hard I try,
Each time I go to write a poem
I am consumed with the desire
To curl up into a little ball
And cry my life away.
I've got to figure out
How to work through the pain.
But I'm pretty sure
That means facing the problem.
And how am I supposed to do that without poetry?
Thursday, April 18, 2013
Thursday, April 11, 2013
Wednesday, April 10, 2013
Tuesday, April 9, 2013
There is denial in our bones,
Hardwired into our souls.
Because Death will come aknocking
And we don't want to open that door,
And offer him tea,
Or scones,
Then join him on the long ride
To Eternity.
Why does it come as such a surprise
That while we may
Learn our faults
And discern how to improve,
We cannot take the wheel into our hands
And turn down the road to change.
Denial does not become us.
Hardwired into our souls.
Because Death will come aknocking
And we don't want to open that door,
And offer him tea,
Or scones,
Then join him on the long ride
To Eternity.
Why does it come as such a surprise
That while we may
Learn our faults
And discern how to improve,
We cannot take the wheel into our hands
And turn down the road to change.
Denial does not become us.
Monday, April 8, 2013
Even Iron Rusts
Even iron rusts.
Not only steel corrodes.
Bones creak
And beating hearts just
Stop.
For "nothing gold can stay;"
Flowers fade each day.
And you can count life
In years, days, minutes
But why bother
When worrying about the seconds you've had
Costs you seconds to have.
Even iron rusts.
Not only steel corrodes.
Bones creak
And beating hearts just
Stop.
We know our own mortality
And yet among us walk souls
We never quite think will leave;
Until one morning
She simply
Goes.
Even iron rusts.
Not only steel corrodes.
Bones creak
And beating hearts merely
Stop.
-For Maggie
Not only steel corrodes.
Bones creak
And beating hearts just
Stop.
For "nothing gold can stay;"
Flowers fade each day.
And you can count life
In years, days, minutes
But why bother
When worrying about the seconds you've had
Costs you seconds to have.
Even iron rusts.
Not only steel corrodes.
Bones creak
And beating hearts just
Stop.
We know our own mortality
And yet among us walk souls
We never quite think will leave;
Until one morning
She simply
Goes.
Even iron rusts.
Not only steel corrodes.
Bones creak
And beating hearts merely
Stop.
-For Maggie
Thursday, April 4, 2013
Speaks Volumes
Do you ever wonder who you are?
It’s an important thing to know.
It kinda affects everything.
I tell my friends I’m a cat,
Or a kitten,
With all the grace and dignity of one
Because I might fly about the room
In a glorious waltz one moment
But then two days later I trip over my own paws and I fall
Only to roll and leap back up again,
Frazzled and disoriented but I kinda look like I know what I’m
doing!
But lately,
I’ve realized I’m more than a cat.
Because I tell a select few near everything,
But I tell everyone something,
And something different.
To the guy who sat next to me in Politics 101 and on the
plane to school after spring break,
I shared how I’ve always hated flying over water.
I love water,
I am a lifeguard after all,
But the thought of plunging into water trapped in this death
machine makes me fear drowning.
And I’m not afraid of all the little moments I can’t
remember because I think the Silence are after me.
It’s because I fear I’m losing my mind.
Batman is the only one I tell dirty jokes to,
And they’re not even dirty enough for her.
She’s also the only one I’d really talk fashion to
And I can’t believe I don’t call her Batman more often.
And the young man who became one of my best friends in two
days by giving me a hug when he noticed I was hurting,
I didn’t tell him I hate to be touched 95% of the time
Because he’s one of two people who walked with me when I
lost my best friend,
And I didn’t even tell him I lost the friend by breaking up
with him.
So while I may be a cat,
I am also a poem.
I say so little
But that little speaks volumes
And lines that seem to be thrown away leave me completely
open
And those poems I write in the back of my French notes tell
me who I am.
God help me,
Because sometimes I hate her.
God help me,
Because like a poem,
She’s beautiful.
Monday, April 1, 2013
I haven't had a place
That's home
In so long.
Sure,
My heart clenched
When I saw my dad
In the airport waiting
For me.
And yeah,
I felt at home
Walking in the door
Of the house.
But no,
The city lights
Did not make me smile.
The rolling river
Brought me no joy.
And yet on the way here,
To school,
I'm a town away
And I can feel
Excitement building
And my heart twisting.
The people are home, yes.
But so is the place.
Finally.
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