Moon

I love your smooth loveliness, your full
and sensuous curves that glow
silver and white. You are the precious jewel
of the evening, you make everything in my life
softer and farther away. Shed your light on me,
and I will never cease to fill my eyes with your
distant form. Poised with perfect mystery and allure,
you lounge on a throne. Even when you disappear,
you’ll never let me stay alone.







I love the moon.

We,

I, like a small bird,
a freckle on the face
of the atmosphere.
You, like a sleek feral cat,
a curve of heat focused
on [your own] survival.
We, like polar opposites
and doppelgängers, were
never meant to meet. So
twist those telephone lines
around us dear,
we will never be closer
than where we are now.







From this, we can infer that I fail at a lot of other things besides communication.
♥

Insert

Like a cut and pasted
journal page, blank
and ready, I wait, so please
[insert emotion here]









Sorry I haven't posted in so long.
I'll get on that.

History

History! A crowd of wizened hands all
reaching out for me, clamoring to share
their own life stories. Each one has a call
so unique, I'm bound to find a voice there
that I enjoy, as well as one that I
will loathe (like ignorant brutality!)
Exploration of cultures beyond my
reach, words so vivid I can almost see
it all- that's what I love! Those hands still reach
for all of us, full of lessons to teach.






For history.
This isn't geeky at all, since I love science & English much more than history.

Choke

_{words curl up in my lungs, I try to breathe them free but they refuse to come. the heavy smoke of not knowing what to say- I choke, I choke! vowels and consonants stick on the roof of my mouth, they cling to my tongue and won’t come out. all I can see is someone I love walking away, but I guess it’s okay. what on earth would I say?}







Gaaaaah it's so awkward for me to talk to people when all I can think of is absolutely NOTHING HELPFUL. Sometimes, being an extrovert sounds nice.

Wings

_{Concentrate, relax, remember to breathe.
If I do these things, sometimes I
can force myself to imagine the feelings of wings.
The flex and pull of muscles,
a gentle weight,
the color of light filtered through feathers;
they become part of me.
What a glorious thing it would be,
don’t you think?}







I would love to have wings. I'd adore it.

Naive

_{I looked at him, he looked at me-
but nothing happened (don’t be naïve)!
This isn’t a dream or a movie
where the girl gets the guy.
This is real life, so we
said goodnight and goodbye.}





Aaaaauuuurrrgh.
I have a whole bunch of poems started, but I can't think of endings for them. And most of them are better than this one...

Air

_{She’s got a heart of solid
silver-coated air.
Not gold, still nice, but
not much else there.}







You know! That person that isn't really mean & might even be nice, but they just seem kinda empty?
Yeah, that one.

Elegance

_{Elegance can be achieved
simply by taking normality
and stretching it out.
Confident in clean lines,
it subtly leans towards the sky
and whisper-shouts,
“Hello, darling.
Lovely to see you again.”}







It's very difficult to be elegant when you're short & squishy, but I'll manage it someday.

Library

_{Comfort lies waiting for me in neat columns and rows,
stacks and aisles all coded and ready to go.
Such tranquility the library offers,
gently bending my spine
into a curve of concentration, intent
upon someplace other than mine.}







I admit it- I love books.
Always have, always will.

Animalistic

_{I sleep sometimes the way I imagine that animals must sleep-
aware only of darkness and passing body heat
(friend or enemy? danger or safety?)
Other times I dream in a vibrant arrangement
of colors- yellow, green, red, blue.
Last night, however, I dreamt of you.
My secret?
I didn’t want to.}






I used to want to dream about him, but I never did. Now I don't want to dream about him, & I do.
Life is so contrary, sometimes.

Tightly

_{My ribs are stretching out, like
a flower blooming except
more painful than beautiful.
I think maybe they need to
be restrained, but I can’t hold
myself tightly enough. Could
you wrap your arms around me?
I’m sure it would work, just be
sure to never let me go.}






Another semi-structured poem. 9 lines, 7 syllables per line.
I haven't written anything for Halloween! Oh well.
I don't know what to call this...
"Straining to be Restrained"?

Genius

_{“I know why the leaves fall,” she said,
barely audible above the porch swing’s squeak.
When she didn’t continue, I
asked, “Why?” and she smiled.
“They are in love.”
Still smiling, she sipped
from the aged mug that she gripped
with pinkish white hands, and
continued to say nothing again.
“With whom?” I finally demanded.
“How should I know?” she replied,
“I only know why.”}








Imaginary conversation, stemming from me trying to think "outside of the box".
It's a pretty big box...

Control

_{Sometimes, faith
is like clinging to someone's sleeve
and being led through the dark,
whispering, "I'm scared."
Other times it's like a spotlight
shining on a serious wound
that you didn't know you had.
"Where did I get that?" you'd ask,
"And can it be healed?"
Right now (for me, personally),
faith is my life jacket
tied to a boat.
It's the only thing keeping me up, but
I'm not the one driving, so
I have no idea where I'm going to go.
As long as I believe, though,
it's enough for me
to just be able to breathe
and let God be in control.}







This stemmed from me having NO IDEA where I'm going with my life.

Hate

_{Hate becomes something physical,
clenched in tight fists
and between grinding teeth,
twitching barely beneath
the skin while heating
arteries and veins.
An object to throw or spit
like poison, almost too hot to hold
and definitely hot enough to hurt.}





I had a bad day.
Not today; actually, last Saturday. But anyways.

Burnt

_{I pushed him down like gunpowder
inside of me, until the kiss
(that sparked a bit)
and then he was an explosion.
My heart went past skipping beats
and decided to almost stop entirely.
If that was what people call love,
it was burning me up,
and he was almost too hot to breathe.
Though fires can be warm and pretty
to sit in front of,
there’s a reason we put them out.
The roaring waves of heat swallowed me whole;
when the cool waters of distance
and rejection finally reached me,
I was almost turned to coals.
Thank goodness for small favors, like
indifference and long roads;
without them, I wouldn’t be
happy or cold.}







I'm not sure I like this one, but I had the gunpowder bit lodged firmly in my brain & this was the only way to get it out.

Room

I walk into the room and
we (the room and I) sigh together.
What a lovely fit!
Shelves and crannies and nooks and corners shift
themselves into an order
that best resembles me. I sink into a chair
made just for backs like mine (all mine!)
and all of us together stretch,
creak, and settle one last time.
All of us are confortable, and
all the world is fine.








I forget everything except that the chair was so comfy and there was lots of natural light.

Spell

The shine of streetlights on the highway
turns the twisting road into a patch of sky,
with rows of small suns stretching into the night.
We are driving in a river of precious stones,
diamonds and rubies that coil and flow
in neat sparkling lines
just under the surface
of a blanket of darkness,
and I swim beneath
the spell of midnight.







I've always seen traffic & the freeway at night as a sort of river of shiny things, and it really is quite gorgeous to me.

Lover

_{Sun, please come and smile
on me. My pale and
ailing skin longs to
be caressed by your
bright fingertips and
kissed by your softly
burning lips. My arms
are aching for your
warm regard, I've been
waiting but it's so
hard. Lover, please shine!}





11 lines, 5 syllables per line.
Sometimes the sunlight makes me forget what I'm thinking. Very relaxing.

Curses

_{Anger is a beastly thing,
all ammonia and aneurysms,
making damsels dismal and
destroying determination.
I have tried to teach
myself to ignore its teeth
and now every bite becomes
only a taste on my tongue,
for I snap back with alliteration,
replacing fury with confused consideration
and sometimes humor.
Curses become a crutch
on which a weaker mind will lean,
so I force myself to stand sometimes
and think of what my words mean.}






Saying "fuck" feels good when I'm angry, but it feels a little bit like giving up. So I use alliteration, which forces me to think of what I'm saying & whether or not I'll regret saying it later.