Tag Archives: thoughts

An unrequested love poem

It’s moments when I’m doing homework way too late at night, and worship music is playing softly in the background,

And I glancingly think about how I’m not having lunch with you tomorrow because it’s a Wednesday, not a Tuesday or a Thursday,

And there’s this twinge inside and the Thought just rudely pushes past my mental barriers,

Announcing itself and settling and sending its inky self-assured fingers into my heart, where I feel its strength resonate

And I drop my pen and look up and out the dark frosted window in shock, looking for who said those words which pronounced themselves so clearly in my mind, 

but there is only my worn reflection staring back, like the words echoed defiantly out of some faded inner conscious where poems are born and die. 

“I love him.”

So I shake myself and write some shadowy half-formed unfair sentiment about this gripping proclamation

And then I wearily lift a thermometer to my ear and check my temperature once more 

before continuing to copy down my calculus homework from the textbook, unburdened. 

punctuation 

Create,

And          Destroy. 

Hate yourself,,

Remorse. 
What am I but a collection of

Mysteries and blood?

Someone thinks, I’ll unravel her,

Encompassing my worth. 
I encase my own identity

Cause the curious-mongering

It’s in the way my veins decide

To sway and dip with the ocean’s tides. 
Curl up inside my bones

Find the chips and cracks. 

Realize I’m nothing more

Than a flesh-and-bloodied sack. 

I’m not the girl with silver teeth

Who throws her head back and laughs. 

I am the girl whose skin is deep

Which fissures when I bask. 

Disastrous humanity

We write to still the waves that break us up deep inside
We write to mourn the lives of those who’ve gone so long ago
With every rhyme I say goodbye
To someone I never knew;

With every word I don’t deserve
To breathe while others bleed.
I hate my human skin
For the evils it’s witnessed
I hate my perfect eyes
For their clarity of sight
I hate my strong young bones
For their ability to fight

I hate the fact that I can afford
To cry over foolish boys
While men turned sour from hate and power
Destroy such precious lives.

I hate us all, I want the evil
To be imprisoned in their own bones
But love calls me to set healing free
And so my prayers encircle the world.

White
Eyes
Dilute the night with their calm;
And the storm clouds roll
Through the chasms of earth
That crack against the dawn.

Intangible colors that seem so far away
They sweep through shores of littered minds
And leave behind words to say.

It is quite the splendid constellation
When all our thoughts align;
And finally, more fought for than won
We know ourselves inside.

Handsome

I like

Hair in its curls and twists

And thin faces

With eyes accentuated by beautiful lips.

 

High cheek bones

And sharp jaw lines

And thin fingers and long toes

Or so I thought.

 

Because I met you

And your hair is straight

And your face is not sculpted like mine.

 

Just like mine, though

Your fingers are thick.

Calloused from working

And perfect for holding.

 

I do not know why

Everything I professed to like

No longer matters

 

Because your face is my favorite

I light up with your eyes

I did not know how much I loved

The way eyes crinkle when the soul is full of joy

But then I finally met you

And you rewrote what I knew.

Recycled Minds

Beyond the bend of mortal sense,

A world awaits with baited breath.

Discovered in shards of brilliance,

Broken by reality’s hindrance.

 

To flow beyond the realm of real,

Toward colors to hear and scents to feel.

To breathe in the shock of what is to come,

Built by others, discovered by some.

 

To find what sleeps in swathes of thought,

Where dreams become solid at once they are sought.

A realm of disputed physics and laws,

Where complexity’s fodder and simple is awe.

 

And of this realm of torturous perfection,

Unlimited creation, unhindered invention,

A wicked guard sits at the throne of it all,

Reality, ensuring that some dreams fall.

 

Beyond his gaping chasm-like eyes,

Defiance sits cross-legged at his demise.

Declaring the freedom of an illness-rid world,

To be found in the light of our own shadowy realm.

 

To be found in the death of Death’s slayer, you know.