Poems · writing

Do You Find It Alright?

How did I get here

How do I know

Which way is up

When will I…

I’m temperate I’ll have you believe.

You hack at me, start it off

One two three four

Who is knocking at my door

Temporal, always, yes.

Buried deep in my chest

Gently tugging,

Whispering

“Have we made it yet?”

Don’t do that here.

Five six seven eight

Resistance, entreat me. They can’t be late

Interesting, be too full.

Every feat, every way, every turn. Undeveloped.

In the morning I’m silver

You’re always light blue

Why do I move. Why do I move

Finish without me I can’t take the cost

Nine ten

Late again.

Shut me off


Been doing homework all day, so here’s one circa January 12, 2018 at 5:39pm. (I like knowing the time. Frames it better for some reason. Better guess at my mindset for weird shit like this)

Poems · writing

Peaceful Observance

I want to fall asleep in the sun

Full of warmth and comfort

Impeded by no one

I want to feel the breeze on my skin

Surrounded by flowers,

Pollen-headed bees tumble lazily in.

I want to watch their slow dance,

Entranced by their diligence, their inability to wear pants,

And on the tops of their silly-heads

Two little antennae bumble about

Looking around for the next bloom to sniff out

(Do bumblebees have noses?)

There are questions I suppose(s) that will abound,

Human nature itself is sort of tumbling around.

And in grief, I think, we know this,

Though when that familiar friend leaves for the summer

We pretend not to notice

He was never there.

Without a care, I lie among the roses,

Prick my fingers on the thorns

I will never pick them.

I watch the bumblebees tumble around

Poems · writing

A Message

I woke up one morning, seventeen, and a ghost had left a message for me. Ominous words written down in a digital hand, that I have since transcribed to paper. I’ve never been one to believe in visits from another realm, and indeed any “experiences” I’ve had since then have done nothing to recreate the feeling of utter violation and dread I felt that day, reading words that I knew were not mine.

Yet, something about it.

“Where was I half the time?”

Felt vaguely…familiar. The structure of the poem wasn’t my style, but the language seemed close to what I’d written in the past.

Had I somehow found a way to send a message to an earlier-version me? And why 3:29pm? Why hadn’t I noticed it that afternoon instead of the next morning?

I know how crazy this sounds, but I just can’t get it out of my head. Its been almost six years and I still think about it. Nothing I’ve found online can explain where it’s from, they’re not lyrics, not a quote, it’s like they conjured themselves into my phone for me to find and no one else.

I’m attaching a picture from when I wrote the words down in my notebook. I don’t like looking at them too long because they make me feel a little sick, but I’ll copy them below, too, in case my writing was a little shaky.

EDIT: I’m realizing that the original, below, has three opening lines instead of the two I had written down initially. Operator error? Or has it changed again? I need to look into this.


Where was I half the time?

Where was I half the time?

Where was I half the time?

All these colors

All these colors

Haunting my heart

Haunting my heart

Where is my mother?

Where is my father?

Where is my mother?

Poems · writing

Lover’s Descent

Orpheus, I’ve often wondered, why did you look if you knew your love was behind you?

But time and distance, silence and pain are enemies of love.

You feared she was gone.

I understand now. That longing, burning sensation of loss. You won’t know if you’ve made it until you see the light, or turn around and watch your life taken away.

Small mistakes tumbling down and piling up

Unfortunate lies soon discovered bury us under their once insignificant weight

Where were we living that we were so free?

What ever gave us the idea of exception from pain?

A child’s naivety

A Romantic heart

We’re torn apart

I do miss you.


I forgot to post yesterday! That’s my April Fool’s prank, I suppose. This is one from a couple months ago

Poems · writing

Feverish

The orange blossoms on your sweet tooth yellow at me as I smile at you and I can’t gather these withering flowers with ugly dreams, nasty fiends, knocking at my door

What is it for?

Single melodies playing all around pretend to revel in its percussive sound

You know I’ll always be around

Until I’m not.

Who’s happy with their lot when all you are is what you’ve got

Distracted fingers memorize stop lights and bruises, alcoholic cruises melt into me and out of you

Liquid malnourishment

Find your tongue is spent working its way through the cash in my wallet

Blue rubber bands paperback hands jumping frogs and mildew incense

Innocence lost lost lost in every note

Feverish pursuit, bulbous trees taking root,

I’m too late.

Poems · writing

Disconnected Dreamscape

I lose myself so easily,

Slipping masks on that never even fit me.

Irony being in that I know now, more than ever, who I’m meant to be.

Too often, though, this surety escapes me.

A ruse, this game we play,

No two thoughts ever the same

Coexistence, a mortal flame,

Realizations hitting, too late.

We’re all the same.


Now why don’t you act your age?

Smile and rage.

Ladylike pains.

Ignore the kerosene flowing through your veins.

I need a desperate act. A heart attack accident just waiting to happen.

Sweet leaves condense underneath your tongue.

Oh whisper to me the things you would never tell anyone.

I’ll hide them under my pillow,

Dreams, fears, delusions.

I fall asleep to laughter and tears, moments collected over the years.

There are shared songs and stories—my joy, I find, has settled here

Content to rest in the times you were near.