Poetry

This is Who I Am

In the sand by the sea

Lost in the taste of champagne on your lover’s lips at midnight

Found in the explosion just after

That is where I will be

 

Forgotten in the wind blowing the trees

In the warm summer sun in the eve

Written in the secret language of you and your best friend

Here I will be leading

 

Upon the old shelf of books

Inside the pocket of the widow

Hiding in the heart of the young girl

This is where you will find me

 

Stained on the old man’s arms

Buried beneath that old oak

Sunken deep under the crashing waves

Here I will be exploring

 

For I am the whisper through the trees

The warmth you feel on your skin

The lost memory deep in your pocket

The tourist rummaging through your past

This is Who I Am

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Poetry

Leaves Don’t Change

The leaves don’t change color around here

The go from green

          To brown

          And back to green

Losing life for only about 2 months

          Sometimes more

          Sometimes less

 

But I’d  like to travel

To that place leaves do turn red

          And orange

          And yellow

A place where fall truly does exist

And I could wear a sweater for more than two weeks

A place where the birds fly from

And not to

 

The leaves don’t change around here

I guess nothing does

Fiction · Poetry

It’s Been A While

It’s been awhile

Since the last time we talked,

      Texted,

            Called,

                  Sang,

                        Danced

It’s been awhile since the last time I saw you

The last time I felt normal

      The last time I felt happy around people

            The last time I felt like a real girl

You were the one person that knew me

And I was the one person that knew you

Isn’t it strange how these things can change so easily?

So,

It’s been a while

And now you’re standing on my doorstep.

Poetry

Freedom

Trapped in routine

Trapped in sameness

Trapped in a room

Trapped in a desk

 

Stuck in this routine

Stuck in this sameness

Stuck in this room

Stuck in this desk

 

I want to get out of this routine

I want to get out of this sameness

I want to get out of this room

I want to get out of this desk

 

Everyone in collars

Everyone with laptops

Everyone trapped

Everyone stuck

 

I want to yell

I want to scream

I want to escape

I want fly

 

This is not who I am

This is not what I want

 

Let me yell

Let me scream

Let me escape

Let me fly

 

I am who I am

And that is what I want

Poetry

When I Was Little

When I was little

You took me outside

And you told me to look up

I did

And my mind was filled with so much wonder

I felt as if I could fly

 

When I was little

You took me to the land of dreams

And you told me to imagine

I did

And my heart was filled with so much enthusiasm

I felt as though I were unstoppable

 

When I was little

You told me great stories

And you told me to listen

I did

And my eyes were filled with so much color

I felt like I was in a rainbow

 

I am not little anymore

You do not fill me with wonder

       Enthusiasm

              Or color

But doubt

And you tell me to look

         Imagine

                Listen

To you awful words of discouragement

And I do

Poetry

Next To You

I never liked the thought of being anybody else’s

Until I was yours

I never liked to be called baby

Until I heard it roll off of your lips

I always wanted to be free

Until I was trapped in your gaze

I nevr wanted to have a map

Until you traced it lazily over my skin

And I never liked the idea of love

Until I found myself falling in it with you

Poetry

Something Like Fire

She was something like fire

Beautiful to look at

Warm to be near

She drew you in

With her ever-present glow

The closer you got

The warmer life became

Until

She burned you

That’s the thing about fire

It never means to cause destruction

It is there for light

Warmth

Protection

But let it spread

And she will kill us all

Poetry · Uncategorized

Insomnia

People often wonder what happens in your room

when the sky goes black.

Is there a Sandman there to bring you dreams?

Are there creatures in the closet?

 

They ask about what happens

when your eyes are closed,

if something happens during those early hours of the AM.

Do things even happen?

 

I can tell you.

I live there.

Those hours between midnight and six A.M.

That is where I live.

 

I am moonlight.

I am shadows.

I am early, early sunlight.

I am fog and morning dew.

I am dark thoughts

and tear stained pillow cases.

 

I am insomnia.