new tree

 

NEW TREE

You left behind

brown leaves,

crisp and dry;

leaving space

for lush ones

that smile.

Like a season anew

and alive, you can

forget what you

left behind. You

can forget and

leave it to die.

Forget it will again rise

into a new tree,

into a  new life.

PROMPT 1 – I’d like to challenge you to write a Kay-Ryan-esque poem: short, tight lines, rhymes interwoven throughout, maybe an animal or two, and, if you can manage to stuff it in, a sharp little philosophical conclusion.

Advertisements

Leave.

My hands are tied to my pillow, my scream

contained within its seams. I wish the red

in my eyes stopped burning holes into my skin,

with that blade, I touch so quietly. No one should

see me ripping myself apart, hiding from the world

with a cut or two. Slipping on lies like a coat that

promises warmth, I face you, your senseless eyes,

I know you want to help but what a fool, there is

nowhere, to go. Nowhere to breathe. Stop your

caring, all it does is fester guilt and though I am

used to that, I can no longer scream. My hair rising

like the tides, almost drowning the hope that was

left, I promise I am not scared, only scarred, you see.

It’s not your fault and that is the problem, no one is to

blame. Just a life I thought I could have called mine,

but those idols were broken in front of me, even before

I could play with those toys, my mother lay broken like

the one that had expired and dried. It’s not your fault.

You are here for some odd reason, though. Let me tell you

that stripteasing will do no good cause I

know you mean well but I don’t and I can’t care

so please just leave.

HOPE

What is Hope, I ask myself. A senseless illusion that should mean something. I wish I could write when I am happier but happiness seems like a lie most days. I mean, why not? There is so much to cry about; so much to scream about. Just when you think things are getting better, life stabs you in your gut and it hurts even if it is not your own skin. I want to weep and roll into a ball that can never untangle itself; that goes through life just hugging itself. At least that would help, right? I don’t know what this is supposed to mean. What stupidity posting this online, what is the point, who even cares for each other’s ramblings. Sometimes, I think we shouldn’t care about each other’s ramblings because no matter how happy you are, there is someone breaking around you. This happiness is never fair, and to feel happy in your happiness seems like the most selfish and insensitive thing to do. So what do we do? How do we navigate through this perpetual human suffering? Through hope, you say.

When you come.

I imagine myself intact.

With every piece fitting in just right. The color of my skin hiding beneath the gushing of my blood. The beating only evident if you could notice my pulsating chest. I scream silently and in that moment there is a silence that is loud enough to shatter glass. Loud enough to deafen the questions you ask and the lies that you so evidently crave to understand.

I imagine myself intact.

With all my hair in place and the creases of my clothes stretched to perfection. My eyes turning in, to hide. Your lips make no movement even if they do because my ears shut the noise out.

I imagine myself intact.

No heavy breathing or loud cries, just a warm pretense. I imagine myself intact,

when you come.

 

A love poem for a stranger.

Should I call you that?                            

stranger?                                                          

I tell myself I should                              

because what I’ve fallen for                          

is an image of you in my head;                    

an image of you I have created;                  

I have nurtured,                                

shamelessly, with love.                                

That is why I fear to tell you

I love you.                                            

 because I fear, at what might happen,      

and it’s not just about you saying                

that you’ll never understand this.            

It’s about discovering parts of you              

I haven’t yet imagined.                                  

I haven’t yet feared.                                    

It’s about discovering our differences that from a distance seem so trivial.          

It’s about discovering you                              

don’t want to be loved by a woman.          

It’s about discovering that our walls        

are built too strong to break.                  

It’s about discovering that my love

for you is just a game I play.                                                                           

That there is more to you                            

than I can ever imagine,                            

that you have dreams too that you chase,

love that you crave.                                      

And in that moment all I can offer you      

is my friendship,                                              

my trust,                                                         

but from a distance.                                      

Because I’m too embarrassed to break          

in front of your

pretty face.

Letters.

Words on paper soft as your skin

visit me with their warmth at night

when all the jaded brightness

disappears and leaves these

fateful scars behind; I hide when

in waiting, scared I’ll lose those sweet

summer rides that we made our own

with paper as soft as your skin

and the red of my shin and other

bruises alike, that like our longing

for each other, left its mark in the

strangest of places to find.

Ripened Sherries.

Pour me a trippy cup of that sherry

And sniff the earth’s delicacy in life,

While I taste memories of love lost

to berries ripe.