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poetry

Oh Dear

I’m sorry, no one told you?

No one made the off-hand comment

The afterthought

Proposed the question?

Did they not care enough to tell you?

To inform

Yet you never inquired

You never wanted to believe otherwise

However, I can only keep up a pretense for so long

Especially when everyone else is in on the game

Everyone has placed their bets

Called their bluffs

Watched their hands as readily as they watched mine

Because who knew what I would write next

Declare to the world

To myself

What decision would find itself in my mind

Lost with a sense of purpose

Perhaps I should’ve mailed the secret

Or whispered it in your ear while you slept on the couch

Or even called you so that I could run when I wanted to

Away from your predictable reply

Yet still so unpredictably disastrous

You may flatten city blocks

Or you may merely dent the sidewalk

Either way, did no one tell you?

How unfortunate

***

I apologize for the abrupt ending, yet the ending I keep closer to my heart than my keyboard. I enjoy wordplay, and while the lines in this may be considered marginally clever, they aren’t the normal rhyming stanzas. As with everything I write, however, I hope that my reader enjoys my organized ramblings.

Categories
poetry

Imagine

I imagine us on a Sunday

With nothing to do

I imagine us with our instruments

Playing a song or two

I imagine you dressing my wounds

While I steal your sweater

I imagine you kissing my knuckles

To make me feel better

I imagine driving downtown with you

Or to the big city, if you want

I imagine blasting the radio

To ignore society’s taunt

I imagine you wearing my jacket

As we pull up to the bookshop

As we sit and browse for hours

Neither of us can stop

I imagine a future with you

And I think it’s coming soon

I imagine laying with you on the hood of my car

Under a full, bright moon

I imagine you in my arms

Whispering how you’re here to stay

But for now, we can’t see each other

And you feel so far away

***

A poem written on a whim, yet the rhyme scheme was good enough to post. Recent events have put me far away from the rest of humanity, as I’m sure it’s done to almost everyone. While this is a love poem, an undercurrent of bitterness permeates the blissful and longing words. However, as with most my writings, it is merely a work of fiction.

Categories
poetry

Hope

Sometimes I just stand there.

I just stand on the edge of the world

I let my breath hitch in my throat

I let my heart choke out the music of the world

I close my eyes

And when my heart slows, I listen to the gulls

And the crashing of the waves

I can see the gray sky already

On a day in a future that may never happen

Or a past that happened too long ago

I can hear the piccolo

Or the screams

Or the laughter

I can feel the sand between my toes

And reality sits below me

Yet time still orchestrates above

No one bothers me when I’m here.

No children

No people

Villains

Sopranos

Friends

Pirates

Freaks

Everyone sits on the other side of the globe

For I stand on its edge

No shoes

Swim trunks

No shirt

And fresh scars lining my abdomen

I take a deep breath

Exhale

And release the years of disgust and distaste and sourness

Throw my secret into the ocean

Yet don’t follow

I won’t let my past weigh me down.

For I am a person

Not a memory

***

A description of my happy place. No witty remark, no imparted wisdom. Just a poem.

Categories
poetry

Grandiose

One dose of the grandiose

Wasn’t enough to keep you here

You left my side and my eyes wide

That’s when everything disappeared

Two cries of blatant lies

Tore a rift and left us stiff

And as we drift there came a shift

Anger came to pass yet the broken looking-glass

Still remains and I still refrain

Three troubles seemed to double

As we ran away from this day

I cam to free the placidity

Of this time yet through my rhyme

It only strengthened and lengthened our woes

Four wishes set on dishes placed too high

Five ambitions broke traditions

Six thoughts and my mind fought

Seven declarations tore my patience

And one does of the grandiose

Wasn’t what you sought

So now, let me rot

***

Another bitter and longing poem, yet this time composed without a person in mind, merely a line. Inspiration struck my mind at an ungodly hour (as it is wont to do) and what started as a simple play on words turned into an entire poem. How many times have we befriended someone, yet truly grown attached to our mind’s perception of them, what we thought of as their potential, only to be disappointed when they don’t meet our lofty expectations? Too often for comfort, or at least that’s the answer from a person who spends most of their time lost in books. Although, most people I encounter can say the same.

Categories
poetry

Help

I never see your tears

I never see your fears

I never see you here

I can feel your grief

Heavy, beyond belief

A silence that suffocates

I try to placate the mood

But it’s like throwing water in the sea

It just adds to your misery

A misery so palpable I can feel it too

I see you use tissues, going through the box

Yet hiding your face

I never see the place your mind takes

“***, are you okay?”

You turn away

I recognize your stride

Of someone trying to hide

The sickness inside

I can never see your sadness

I can never know about your pain

And everything, you’ve always taught us,

Would happen again and again

“***, are you fine?”

Don’t keep yourself in line

Show me the hurt

What you think you must skirt around

Tears fall to the ground

But you still wipe them away

It’s not your fault

You never had a say

Chemical imbalance

Is what stole the day

I want to tell you that it will pass

That what you have will never last

But I’m too choked up on tears to say the words

I would turn from your problems too

If I didn’t know I couldn’t take them from you

Please, ***, just be okay

Get up to see another day

Fight through the grief for my greed

Battle the pain, because I need you

Please

***?

***

There is a silence that comes with being in a room with someone who struggles with their own mind and thoughts, and it’s not a silence I could ever describe. It’s worse than the one at funerals, because at least there is a peace in that silence. If I had any experience on a battlefield, I might describe it as one looking at the remnants of war, from the fresh corpses to the mementos and lives they used to carry. It’s heavy and thick and suffocating, yet it is nothing, I imagine, compared to what those who must constantly war feel. Be kind to the mentally ill, folks. Walk a lifetime in their shoes before you judge.

Categories
poetry

Would It Matter to You

Would it matter to you

If I was black or blue

From bruises given to me

Or from the ones I gave to a few?

Would it matter if I could fly

Or crushing ants made me cry

Because their lives aren’t something we should pass by

Since they still have souls

It wouldn’t matter to me

If you were in prison or roamed free

Walking the streets or confined in a cell

Living in heaven or going through hell

Because I still love you

So if I told you I deviated from the normal path

Would I have to face your wrath?

Or would you shun me like I think you would

You don’t have to agree, but I think you should

At least understand my heart

Which overflowed from the start

And it couldn’t contain everything inside

So I stopped hiding feelings I tried hard to hide

Now that you know me outside of the game

Do you still love me just the same?

***

This poem was written a couple of months ago, and a lot has changed since those couple of months. While this poem is plagued with uncertainty and sad devotion, it also depicts hope. A silver lining in the clouds, and I’m happy to report that the bad weather eventually dissipated, metaphorically speaking. And, perhaps naively, I still hope that the silver lining will prevail.

Categories
poetry

A Day in the Life

Every morning I put on my scars

Just to get yelled at for still having them

Every night I pull at my hair

I shaved my head to break the habit

And feel my nails

Short for scars

Dig into my scalp

I tattoo my arm

And scrub at it in the shower until my arm turns red

Because I don’t need another person asking, “what’s that”

Every morning I wake up and cry

Because I watched someone die in my dreams

And since they’re made of paper others don’t understand

But the sun hits differently when it’s reflecting off my tears

I say goodbye to my little night thoughts

And birds

I sit through another day of orchestration

Composing my life symphony and desperately hoping I can share it with you

At twelve I go out to draw new scars on my knuckles

And come inside only to have others turn away

I’ve been told more times than I can count to “go easy”

But I bleed to know I am human

I feel pain to know I am alive

I watch my hands shake and redden and swell

Just to see them differently from my vampire body

I scream at the punching bag

Use my anger to destroy its sharp leather

Dance with kicks and hooks and jabs

Fly for five minutes

Then the song changes

I go inside

Every night, I bandage my scars

Hide them from the people in my head

And wait to draw them again

So I can get yelled at in the morning

***

I’ve taken up the wonderful art of kickboxing, much to the dismay of many people I know. I live very intensely, and as a result, I have returned home with knuckles skinned and busted more times than I can count. There’s a vigor to kickboxing, a vitality you cannot receive unless faced in a life or death situation. While I am very much an amateur, I wish to continue the sport until my hands break or I lose interest, whichever comes sooner. Needless to say, those around me hardly agree with that sentiment and usually worry about the new blood. If you favor a warped sense of humor, you will understand my delight when I see others pale at the sight of my freshly-wounded fist. Take up the activity, my friends. It is good for the body, for the mind, and for the soul.

Categories
poetry

Am I Enough to You

My achievements run miles long

I’m reliable through and through

But when I see your face

And watch your pace

I think, “am I enough to you?”

I’ve had 4.0s for years

My work ethic is unique

But when you’re here

I disappear

And start to become so weak

Maybe it’s my smile

And the way my teeth always show

Maybe it’s my laugh

Or how I vocalize what I know

Perhaps you don’t like my attitude

I’m made of spikes instead of curves

Or how I hit when I’m upset

Or become a huge bundle of nerves

I’ve got friends that run for miles

I’m a wonderful pal for more than a few

But lying in bed

With nothing but my head

I think “am I enough to you?”

So maybe I’ve got flaws

We all have a few

Maybe I’m too mean or nice

Or can’t decide on a view

You probably hate the way I walk

Like a freight train about to crash

You probably hate how I say the truth

It always comes out too brash

I’m a little strange and stubborn

But I’m willing to take your side and see

Make my day

Just please say

“You are enough to me”

***

There have been plenty of people in my life I’ve tried to impress. My parents, friends, even close family members. Everyone puts on a show for others, I believe, and we do so because humans are social creatures and we need acceptance. Crave it, more than perhaps anything else. I wrote this poem a while ago, at a time where I was both uncertain with whose acceptance I desired and how to achieve it. That wonderful feeling of complete uncertainty, you know?

Categories
poetry

Phantom Love

You are my Christine

And I’m your phantom ghoul

We had to change the story

Because it didn’t follow the rule

First off, I can’t sing

But your voice makes me want to fly

I don’t think in my secret home

We’d have to say goodbye

There’s no Raoul to keep us a part

But the rest of the opera still shuns our love

There’s no angel to help us out

I’ll admit I’m not from above

While my skin wasn’t scarred from birth

I still have ugliness inside

But your love helps me through the pain

I try so hard to hide

We have several Darogas

Who check up on us from time to time

And we’re dancing to the organ

When we here that welcome chime

We can still rule Paris

From our underground lake

But we’d still have to hide our love

Until we could escape

But once we’re across the ocean

There’s nowhere I’d rather be

Than at your side on Coney Island

And hear you’ll stay with me

***

A poem loosely based off the genius of Gaston Leroux and all his proteges. For years, I’ve loved Phantom of the Opera, a timeless classical romance and the gateway of modern mystery novels. When I was younger, as most little girls did, I thought of myself as Christine. However, as I grow older and converse with the person my heart begins to grow fond for, I find myself in more of the phantom’s position. I desperately hope that our ending isn’t parallel to poor, unhappy Erik’s demise.

Categories
poetry

Doubt

Doubt is the thing that eats me inside out

Questioning the life I live

What I did

And who I am

This is a question that makes me understand less about myself

And more about society

The variety of people makes it harder to choose

There’s more to lose

When you are expected to pick one out of a million

A billion stars in the galaxy

And only one supports life

But I don’t know if my life is worth the energy it took to create me

I can’t see myself in the mirror because all I know is my present

Which is weighed down by my past

I feel my life moves too fast

And slow at the same time

I can’t tell people what is mine

Because I don’t know what I possess

I like to digress from the natural path

That only makes it harder to exist

Yet I persist and hope that what I have is right

In hindsight

I should’ve played mute

***

I am at a very uncertain time in my life, yet I feel as if this is the path I’ve chosen to walk from the beginning. I have a hard time talking to other people, to communicating with friends and family, and even reflecting upon my own past. I hope that there is a viable excuse for this state of mind, and I believe that it will disappear eventually. The style of this poem is a little different, yet I enjoy writing like this because it feels halfway between a couplet and a spoken word. One of the most important things to know, my friends, is yourself. Everything else is only a consequence.