I like writing poetry. Not all of it is going to be a historical epic or an ode to something. These are like little glimpses of the subway in my mind; my train of thought isn't always artsy or symbolic or deep or meaningful, but I like to think that art takes ordinary things and makes people see a sort of beauty in them. So, look around- I've been doing this for a while. Enjoy ♥
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Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Unfinished
I am no truly fleshed out thought heart still changing in the chill air growing like hair and grass only to be trimmed on certain occasions- pruned like bonsai trees and topiaries, much fonder of the former I like the way they twist and turn as the world does, churn as my stomach when I am away from physical reassurance, head meets chest is the most lovely of ways, loveliest of days when I can see the shooting stars at night pretending that their briefest light will ignite a spark between two human beings and the only thing I am sure of is this- the only way to make this better is-
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Words
I am through with words,
cumbersome and hard to say,
hard to think of and explain.
So I will speak in common tongues-
body language,
furtive glances,
and other things.
It may be difficult to hear at first,
but I believe
that no meaning
can be truly lost
(even in translation);
With time and practice,
conversation
will come easily,
and then we shall be
truly free.
Obstreperous
It is home I feel caged,
free when I am away
and timed in every action.
It is the oppressiveness of childhood,
memories like blankets
smothering me, sheets of sunshine
and unforgotten glories.
This is no excuse, I understand,
for the edge in my voice
when you try (civilized) conversation,
But neither is there excuse
for your actions,
however unknowingly struck-
For words are sharp,
and I bleed often in the confine
of the room I once called mine.
So I will try my best to leave
as soon as I see
a window of opportunity,
and you will no object directly-
I’ll be leaving again soon, anyways.
Saturday, January 12, 2008
City/ Amy
She is a saint of cement,
All sharp edges and concrete,
Smooth lines and waves of heat.
Her home was close to mine,
Her heart was next to mine,
Our fingers intertwined
Long ago.
She is still a saint of cement,
Cracked and cold beneath our feet,
Nature pushing up from beneath.
With construction she is smoothing,
Her ruggedness so soothing
To me,
And when the time comes to say goodbye
My saint will not cry
Anymore
They both end in why
and love~<3
All sharp edges and concrete,
Smooth lines and waves of heat.
Her home was close to mine,
Her heart was next to mine,
Our fingers intertwined
Long ago.
She is still a saint of cement,
Cracked and cold beneath our feet,
Nature pushing up from beneath.
With construction she is smoothing,
Her ruggedness so soothing
To me,
And when the time comes to say goodbye
My saint will not cry
Anymore
They both end in why
and love~<3
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