Watching someone fade
Is like building a sand castle,
With bare hands and dry sand.
It takes a lot of energy,
To be naive.
To be constantly hopeful.
Grains of sand
Are cups of tea,
A Sunday morning donut,
A smile on a face,
They are what keeps you going,
What keeps you building the towers,
That stand guard against the rolling black clouds off shore,
Until all you are doing is looking up.
Unaware of the ground crumbling beneath you,
Unaware of why the castle is getting smaller,
Unaware of why a laugh is making you feel uneasy,
But you knew.
You knew before your soul wanted know,
You knew that it was all slipping through your fingers,
Like dry sand and bare hands,
You lost all control.
Now a laugh is a symptom,
A donut is now a reminder,
Of what could make you smile,
And tea is what I have when I think of you.
Tag Archives: journal
Fading
Trauma
Wind waves pass,
Saying hello,
The house stays still,
Not wanting to play,
Ignoring the breath,
Staining the window.
Only the sound of time,
Remnants of moments,
That were once inviting,
Now covered in layers,
of distance and neglect.
A shell
Of a life once lived,
Etched with meaning,
Within its organs.
Trees are ever changing,
Waiting for a jolt,
From a storm or
An awaiting rainbow,
To bring a pulse,
Back into it’s walls,
And the wind,
Will come dancing through
As an old friend.
Filed under Poetry
In a Moment
Worrying just makes you suffer twice.
Movie advice.
Revolutionary idea.
Easy to grasp, hard to follow.
I need an electrician.
Wires crossed.
Suffering in silence.
Silence an enemy.
Chaos a friend.
Too much time.
Thinking.
Filed under Poetry
Light
The fan turns,
and turns
and turns,
until it’s swirls of greys and whites
A transporter in time,
My eyes close,
I can see your sleepy smile,
Hear your shallow breathing,
Feel the weight of your arm on my hip,
Aftershave drifts across the pillows,
I’m slipping,
For a moment, I forget the trick,
Until I wake to a room too bright,
With all of the covers,
You used to turn off the light.
Filed under Poetry
Broken- A Rewrite
Every poem that begins,
Sounds like a eulogy
That I will have to give.
Forgive me.
I can’t paint you
Into a thousand words
Watercolors always bleed
One thought into another.
The mind doesn’t allow
The ignoring of obvious possibilities.
Imagination, a child’s play thing,
The child being my anxiety,
My mind the playground,
The ground is lava.
My hands are always slipping
Across the monkey bars.
Is this insanity?
Maybe if I will it hard enough,
Lily pads will appear beneath my toes,
Will I be strong enough to let go
And trust that everything won’t burn?
I’m pink with the rising heat
Someone has a basketball
Thump,
Thump,
Thump,
It vibrates though my body.
It is not me.
It is not me.
It can not be me.
Hanging above a deathlike pit,
Allows your mind to wander.
Imagine the tips of my fingers
As mini concrete cinder blocks,
Holding me in the air,
Like a circus trick.
I hold all my strength in my hands,
Out in the open for people to see,
If they wish to acknowledge it,
Strength can be intimidating.
Better to be left unsaid.
Better to fly across the monkey bars,
Show your flair and speed,
Those are qualities they want to see,
It is weakness to struggle.
Even if that struggle,
Means hanging everyday,
Over lava,
Thump, thump, thump,
Heart is always racing in your ears,
A reminder you are alive,
Keeping on the pressure,
With the rising heat,
That you must not let go.
Isn’t that strength?
Never letting go.
Even though it would be easier,
To get some long deserved relief.
So, my words can keep sounding,
Like a eulogy that I will have to give,
But I’ll use them as gloves,
To keep my self up in the air.
Filed under Poetry
Broken
You consume my every thought
That I want to put into words
But every poem that begins
Sounds like a eulogy
That I will have to give.
So, forgive me.
I can’t paint you
Into a thousand words.
The watercolors always bleed
One thought into another.
My mind doesn’t allow
Ignoring of obvious possibilities.
Imagination is a child’s play thing,
The child being my anxiety,
My mind the playground,
The ground is lava.
My hands are always slipping
Across the monkey bars.
I’m stuck in the middle,
Writing a poem,
About a poem I want to write,
About how writing that poem will break me.
Is this insanity?
Maybe if I will it hard enough,
Lily pads will appear beneath my toes,
But will I be strong enough to let go
And trust that everything won’t burn?
I’m pink with the rising heat,
Someone has a basketball,
thump,
thump,
thump.
I can feel it through my body.
I know what you are thinking,
It is not me.
It is not me.
It can’t be me.
I should be able to grab the monkey bars,
pull myself up and make it to the other side.
I should be able to put those words on paper,
hundreds and hundreds of words.
I live on paper.
That is my heart’s playground,
26 letters to rearrange at my own whim,
It is my favorite game.
You are weaved through the
thump,
thump,
thumps.
You belong on my paper.
Honest Poem (In Progress)
If you put your arms
Around my waist, beware
You might get them back
Covered in bobby pins
I save to secure
All of my imperfections.
Someone will come,
Their hands in my hair,
Pulling each unruly strand free.
I’m told I’m kind,
But I’m confused,
I choose human decency
Over thoughts in my head.
Kindness is an obligation
Not rose colored glasses,
Not to be praised.
So when you say I’m kind,
I’m not humble,
I wonder if it just says
More about you
Then me.
I forget to speak,
Sometimes on purpose
I would rather
Not deal with disbelief
When I sprout intellect,
And I,
Could not
Possibly
Have
A voice,
Love does not fix that.
Being alone?
Probably too content,
I like my thoughts,
Yours drown them out.
It’s not your fault,
My heart, though
Craves another rhythm.
It will dance
Long into the night,
Forgetting the world,
Beats echoing loud,
No care for anything else.
(This is totally unfinished, just kinda hit a wall. Just wanted to get a feel of the poem so far out in the world in its very, very premature state. Any feedback is appreciated:)
Filed under Poetry
almost there
365 days
maybe then i can rest
maybe then i can live
but mostly
i’m just learning
how to be ok with me
so i can be ok for you
almost there.
Filed under Poetry
Naively Aware
I have forgotten the song your voice plays
How the notes are imprinted across my soul
They lay dormant
Till they can render your love.
Filed under Poetry
Purge
it takes time
to find the courage again
to sift through the evidence of your heart break
careful to not be cut from the sharp edges
the previous scars are only just fading
you hold them as if they are delicate flowers
determined to not let them cause you any more pain
you know how to protect yourself now
you have layers of security that no one can hack
you are a fortress with an army that has seen darkness
they don’t want to go back
so you banish the triggers
use the glass from your old heart to rebuild
and when it seems to be too much
you commence a purge of emotions into words
as if your soul is getting a spring cleaning
you know now that you will still be standing
after the coldest of times.
Filed under Poetry
An Everyday Girl's Outlet 