Tag Archives: journal

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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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:)

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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.

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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.

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