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HaloThe sky was abstract so I knew you could relate
I told you I saw a unicorn in the clouds
and asked if you could see anything else up there
You came to life as if the clouds had been following you all morning,
"I've got clouds at my house too!"
You didn't know why I laughed.
You laughed, too, because it was your special mind.
The sky is heavy with guilt today, horned fragility,
I should've known you would love it anyway,
I can hear you tell me there's a heroine in rainbow armor in the sky,
you ask if I can see it too.
I'm not a star as bright as I'd like to be,
but know I'm always here,
just like those silver lining clouds
that follow my Angel home.
You didn't know why I smiled.
You smiled back, because it was your halo heart.
ArsonIt wasn't expected to ignite this, but our words
have long ago run away and your words
are calling me back home
to start a fire in dark hallways
with friction of lead and teardrop matches.
Mutual hardships can smooth sail our rhyme schemes
across sublime between the murky skylines
of debilitating storm waves in the scenery.
Please don't abandon ship, leaving me
to merely imagine your natural resources of breathtaking imagery,
shipwrecked on writer blocked, soul deserted islands...
Yet, unbeknownst to you,
I had already left long ago...
Swept away in the stormy waves
And sent down to drift along the river of life.
It feels like I've gone so far away,
And you... your words are unreachable.
It seems like I'm stranded here
All alone, wordless and empty, but so full
Of yearning, of tears, of ghostly memories
Of the life I once lived...
That's where they are!
I've finally found your words again!
Now... I realise the lie I had been living.
There was no soul deserted island
On which, I, alo
Aloe VeraYour baby and you are perfect sunlight to radiate our spirits
Together we'll do well and feel better keeping her warm
Her white sand belief in me doesn't yet believe
your polluted airways of exhausted fumes
so please settle with second chance clouds in clear skies
so our sound advice of the rain
doesn't cover her in muddy lies
Not gonna mention any names
just gonna lay it out for us in the lost and found box
hoping you come across it before
someone else who's not as forgiving as I was
Those ice cubed stares of yours are trapped heat
browning my skin in overexposure of sun ray eyes
and your slapping of the sunburn on my back
and shoulders you'd rather be crying on
are stinging me to split ends of ocean-salted hair.
Well that felt good getting out in the air.
Best Friend Poet VowsWhen our pens have died
where the ink dried of gray cloud cement
let it lead us down suntanned sidewalks, skipping
over cracks of pale heartbreak and hidden shade
cause we've been alive this whole time
just scared half to death
of being caught in the rain
with the pen's blood on our hands.
Erase it, shake it off, we can stomp
in our blood puddles, jump
from our peeling skin, potholes
to whole new worlds than what we saw from our windows.
We'll sip Life's Lemonade
from the last of our straws
Conversing how those wind currents and windfalls
are still just our oxygen
throwing tornado tantrums for a little color
cause they realize their potential for becoming air balloons.
We can grow from these captured experiences
we can call it photosynthesis
and when our sun rises, yawning
in our flower beds, stretching
our horizons, what words
will bloom from your fertile soiled eyes?
Words are the pollen for our
Writing season Together, as one
Why must we tie the knots if
Wright BrothersHoneysuckle sunlight drips as planned
where I was awaiting birds to whistle their morning dew promises
'Today's a new day.'
Free spirit vapor, so I wrote and I wrote
like King Tut preserving his body to maintain his spirit.
Words floated into space bars
raise of our pens to propose a toast
'You hold the key, key, keyboard to any heart daring to listen.'
I felt like an exaggerated cliche standing in rain
but it's been so long
I believed it as fresh metaphors of my own
bowing at the mercy of acid toes
in its butterscotch gown.
I was a fire ant of anger, my nerves,
twitches of flame, the fear
of pillow smothering smoke clouds, until
I settled as a cooling rain fog, rising
from heated surfaces.
Hold your chest to my ear so I can hear ocean waves
We can smell sea-salt breeze from our hermit shells
So much time to waste
carefree in baby blue turbulence
Banana split sunsets just as planned
prepared for but not e
Get Well CardsHer words choreographed interpretive dance of litter
landscaping desolate childhood neighborhoods.
Eloquent consequence. Elegant coincidence.
Decorative integrity in "There's no other way
to say you're better than this. When you're at your best,
you can go further than that in your hospital room for improvement.
So you've really let yourself go with the ice age
and I can only pray
you take my Get Well cards
to broken heart."
When you slam the door behind you, that's a door in my face
and answers aren't always photogenic but truths can sing
acapella, in one ear and out of tune, forgiven frozen
as you only needed a glacier shoulder to sync with.
Feel free to fall asleep with me, still
gonna have our clashing dreams, stillborn
where everything we touch, birthed premature
dies in its sleep or sinks into coma if lucky. Wishing wells
of lava, engulfing this recurring nightmare I can never remember.
The same way I can never remember
what the Hell we were even fighting about.
the truth about growing up
1. It's easier when you don't think.
1. It starts early,
on a cloudy day when you recall
the 'childhood memories' of
two summers ago,
that's when you start your backslide into
2. On the bright side
you won't notice this until you're
good and ripe in age,
so maybe it doesn't matter
3. That tightness in your chest?
The feeling that you're not ready
to take on the rest of your life; it
4. It stews in the pit of your stomach
makes you doubt,
but there will be days when you look back
on the mountains you climbed -
the raging rivers you crossed -
and you'll have a sneaking suspicion you were
more prepared than you thought.
5. There's nothing like your own bed.
6. Laundry will never smell right
without mom's sweat and tears.
But you still have to separate lights from darks,
keep the zippers pulled tight
and the buttons unhooked.
7. There is comfort in your parents' presence.
8. Things change
the future gnaws and rips
Stranger's funeralUnder the clouds
Under the rain
Staring at the coffin
At a stranger's funeral
We're all alone
Feeling the storm
But not the pain
For he's but a stranger
And the graves around us
Are just there
Keeping us company
During this empty moment
LullabyHush, my baby,
Be still, don't cry.
Lay with me
A little while.
Close your eyes,
Slow your breath.
Hear your heart
Inside your chest?
Your heart is strong,
It guides you well.
Be sure to listen
To what it tells.
I hear him now,
Outside the room.
It won't be long,
He'll find us soon.
Now close your eyes,
Slow your breath,
And rest your head
Upon my chest.
CarolineYou loved the fire
of rogues -
imperfect men who shot up
the endings of the day
and drank down
too much beauty.
And like one of them,
you bellied with rebellion,
felt his tense seed
toil where women
and craved his notoriety.
Poor girl -
his verses won the day
and the call of words
was too fickle a lover
for any constant star.
Don't blame yourself -
are more attractive
and all poets are
AliveA ray of hope shines during the
Long restless hours
I keep enduring the task of
Vanquishing the darkness with the
Energy from the depths of my soul
things to tell you before i leave for collegeto mrs hatcher:
i promise that one day i will write that poem you asked me for
(the only thing you ever asked me for)
and i will finally tell you that you deserve
so much more.
to mr. walker:
i promise that i will not pity you.
i promise that i will not envy you.
i promise that you will always be part of my forget-me-nots and marigolds.
i promise to always be grateful.
i promise to be careful.
i promise to be crazy.
i promise that i will remember what it feels like to be needed
and what it feels like to let someone who needs you down.
i promise that i will never resent you for asking for help
and that i will always be there when you do.
i promise that even sixty years from now,
i will not be surprised to find a letter from you in my mailbox.
i promise to always remember what it felt like to be young and crazy with you,
how scared and lonely we were.
i will remember that we both survived it,
and that we'll survive this, too.
To the Boy Who Likes PoetryHe was a maze of metaphors
but she didn't mind
getting lost in him
olivearmies march in time,
shouting and stamping
into Vietnam swamps
with booming voices
and dirty boots.
a soldier can't keep up,
falls to the side in tall jungle grass
and vomits out his homesickness
into the damp shrubs.
while the American girl
giggles and taps her nails
on the grimy paint of the bar,
chewing the toothpick
of her martini.
outsides, leaves curl into mulch,
and summer shrivels
like a rotting pea pod.
Letter Of RecommendationBefore you walk out, hear me out--
Girl, there is no doubt
you're going long routes;
just recollect this future reference:
Hold up; hold it down--
Sugar rush in high heels
is not the only way out;
not what it's all about.
Let things run their course--
Walk in other people's shoes;
Take a stand, corrected.
Now, turn around--
Display every angle of this attire;
it suits you rather well.
Take a seat for this--
I could break it to you easy, but;
bliss is ignorance.
& whether life's weather foreshadows a breeze--
you're gonna fall hard, swept off your feet
to weak knees. It's not over; it's over
Before you dive in, test the waters--
Girl, he's still your Father,
you're gonna go farther;
just forget those past recollections.
Teenage TaoismGiving birth is the closest I’d ever felt to dying.
Before that, my near death experiences had consisted only of my silent announcement of pregnancy—silent, being that my social media accounts were all deleted almost simultaneously and I never returned to school in the fall, saying without really saying that I had caught the malicious disease of “teenage pregnancy”. I’m sure the whisper spread in the hallways like the Bubonic Plague. That September, sitting at home on what would have been the first day of my senior year, I imagined friends I’d never talk to again saying “she was only seventeen, and so full of life!” at my absence in the cafeteria tables, as if they were attending my funeral instead of talking about me behind my back.
"Full of life," I had snorted then, folding a never ending stream of what had once been my own baby clothes. "Literally."
I walked around like a zombie for the months of my pregnancy, deciding t
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