today is a new day andi am growing up out of my bones and out of this skin andthis skin is growing roots down into the core, the core of meand myself and this skin- oh, this skin this skin is thicker than you will ever believe.if you told me that you had sunflowerssprouting from the corners of youreyes then i'd have no choice but to believe you. you are a child of the sun,you have wheat growing under your shoulder blades, you have been fleckedwith a ginger paintbrush dipped in solarrays, you are soft-lipped and you,you are warmi might be sunburnt but this organ is overseventy kilometres deep and i can't feelthe touch of your uv arms underneath allthis wadding,i don't want solace dripped over me like tanning oil, not if i'm like this,not if i'm different to how i was beforeseasons change
Bitlets 70He mopes with the lettershe has stolen from poems;decides to learn the ropeswith letters he took from prose.
nighttimecurled up in the darkness ,surrounded by nothing but the music ,wishing for the sound of your voice to tell me it's okay .when the nightmares come ,wake up screaming , thrash around( until i realize it was only a dream, it wasn't real )closing my eyes to block out the pain and the memories -only to remember everything i've tried to forget . . .struggling to separate dreams from reality ,the bags under my eyes showing ofthe long sleepless nights spent caught up in it all .remnants of the past still clinging to my soul ,not willing to let me just let it go and move on . . .
simple pleasureswind caressing my face,tangling my hair,cooling me down on this hot summer daywatermelon juicerunning down my chin,spitting seedshoping that they grow anewmy daughter's smilewhen she splashes me in the pool,her screeching laughwhen I chase herit's the simple thingsthat make me sigh with contentment,it's the little thingsthat bring tremendous joy
.i would shed my skinwith autumn, but my veins wouldcrack like the dry leaves
i just really don't care about climate changei am fourteen.i am fourteen years old and they tell meto take on the world, to hold the globelike a precious creature in my palms and to balance the continents between my fingers.i don't want to suck the toxins fromthe atmosphere and pollute younglungs, the exposition of explicit curriculum drives me crazy.it may be compulsory but having it drummed into your ears and weavedinto your innards is not the way that(i want to live).i am fourteen years old,and they tell us that kids are growing up way too fastin a world that's self destructing by the second, but ignorance is bliss - weren't they the oneswho taught us so?
Poetry AnalysisI was given poetry Told to pinher arms and legsdown on my paper; college ruledDissect HerIt's procedure Take my pen & tear her openExpose her limbsAnd rearrange her vertebrae to fit my selfish needs But what the teacher doesn't knowis I already let mine escapeClutching to the secrets that still remain inside her Where they belong
Train WreckWeare adisasterjust waiting tohappen; but I’m on the edge of my seat.
I lost my innocence, that day.When I was younger,there was a time where all of my friendswere boys.Girls wanted to play mommy and poniesI wanted to play tag and race carsand so did the boysso we did.Not a big deal.I was six when I went over to a friends house for the first time.He was really neat--He had a box full of race cars and a bubble machinethat made the biggest bubbles.One day, as we were having snacks(because snack time is serious business, no matter what age you are)I decided I wanted another one.It was a stick of string cheese, and I was six--clearly I was a growing lady and I needed my dose of dairy.So I walked up to his mother and said"please," because my momma raised me right, "can I have another string cheese?"And I will never forget the hesitant look I gotthe curious head tilt, the squinted eyes;it's forever in my mind. It's always there.Anyway, I didn't understand why it was so confusing.Really, I just wanted another piece of cheese.To be honest, I don't remember if she ever
scraps and sacramentsyou,beautiful siren girl with melodiesentangled in her hair: you areshell-shocked and sea-struckeven though you cannot standthe sensation of sand beneathyour toes.you have fingers for prying, picking,pulling at your skin and nestingin that hollow space betweenyour bones. and if anyone asks,you will swear there are monsterssleeping in the concaves of your ribs;there are ghosts beneath your tongue,embittered, and you are not the wordsyou speak.they say there is an answer, little girl(sometimes you begin to believe you area scarecrow on the border of realitybegging people to turn the other way;and the mirror will agree)how far have you gone? a feather inthe breeze who won’t promise to returnagain; there is a wandering warmth inthe hesitation of your harbored fear.where will you be in six months whenthe future has become itself and youare still astray? little one, no one is like youin the way you sway to the cadence of adissonant night. no one knows your
fouryou told me thatthere was nothing beautifulin sadness –but i need to believethat someone is going to see beautyin the way the broken shardsof my heartfall like loose teethfrom my sleeve.and that maybe someone could love medespite the albatrossaround my necktightening like a nooseevery time i think of the thingsi've done wrong.and i'm trying not to becomemy sadnessbut it slides down my throatlike my bottle of writer's tearsfilling up the cracksin my bones.you told me thatthere was nothing beautifulin sadness –and i tried not to cry,because i thinkthat's the only beautiful thingabout me.
Growing Upit seems that by now I’ve been diagnosedwith a mild case of weightlessness, mindlessdrifting past empty homes and the emptier peoplethat purchased them. I remember conversationswith you about existentialismand the almost intricate fabric of my mind andeverything in between, and you-- the way youpaused before making a point asthe words defined themselves in your head:I remember the day I told you I was God.Creator of all things unimportant, trappedin the body of a girl with nothing left to give, youbelieved meit must be a beautiful placeinside your head, with a worldthat revolves around hope and expectationsthe way it was supposed to; allstorybook-perfect like thewars promise we’ll one daybecome[I’d like to think that every great leaderonce cried themselves to sleep wonderingif they’d ever mean anything anddid things to stand out like smokingor drinking or pretending to be someonethey’re not and every morning they’d tilt
HaikuWriMo1Church spire, stretching,weds the moon.2Slate skyand a heavy heat;collapsing.3Embroidered stars—celestial needlework.4Fairy wrens:steeds of elven knights,armoured all in blue.5Raindrops—wet wings,startled honeybee.6Huntsmanupon orange glass:a specimen, fossilisedin amber.7Scarred grape,veined in gold—kintsugi.8White blossoms,fallen like snowdrops.9Eagle in flight,great wings cradlingthe half-moon.10Pastel sun,peeking from a soft,smoky grey duvet.11The world settles;the heavens awaken—storm.12Black swans:two arrows in tandem.13Mirror-verse—sunset’s reflection,river-bound.14The yellow of anold book:crinkled paper moon.15Tangled in old web—a spider, noosed.16Rough brushstrokesof a smudged landscape:Impressionism.17Giant’s treasure:pot of molten goldspilledalong the treetops.18Raindropslike gemstones,flinging light.
a study in absolutionyou kiss my fingers like you don’t know whatthese hands have done, who these hands have done:i am always afraid you will get tired of me, grow disgusted atthese scars, at these traces of other people dusting my skinlike a bruise that’s permanently tender, but rightwhen i think you will leave, you find anotherpart of my body to forgive.
broken faithi.we made wings out ofsaran wrap and twigs,simplicity at best.ii.we prayed for theautumn winds to blowus away like seeds.iii.we reached towardsthe never-ending skyand jumped.iv.our wings stepped on,our bodies crushed,we faced the darkness.
it's not enoughshe held her breath and jumped from the clifftop.one.two.three.the shockwave of her body slapping against the surface told her, breathe, breathe.but she refused.the waves smacked her upside the head. breathe, breathe.but she refused.her lover pounded against her chest. breathe, breathe.she refused.
for Erkyou must have heard by nowthat diamonds are only madebeneath a million pounds ofpressure;you must have heard by nowthat pearls are only madeas a form of self-defense;but darling, have you heardsomeone tell you to your facethat you are brilliant,beautiful in your own skin, inevery freckle, every frown,in every graceful good morningand every war waged and weatheredin the marrow of your bones - you are so much morethan the scars you wearand the stories they will tell;you are so much morethan the lines you will drawin love and laughterand landscapes made alive;you are so much morethan the climb you have yetto conquer - you must have heard by nowthat we are all of us newly madeevery seven years;you must have heard by nowthat we are none of us prisonersof our past, but products of it;but if you have not heard by nowthat every new day and every disasteris another chance to write bad poetrybetween horizons;and another chance for someone to
doorwayi've been sitting inthis doorway for years & yearsswear i was born here
i've been sitting inthis doorway for years & yearsswear i was born here