I am a blue jay waiting to fly, I am the sun wanting to rise, hoping I am the moon dimming unapologetically. I want to distance myself from the darkened past, throw away everything it bounds me to. Not afraid to learn with a mind that happens to know too little, I am a math equation hard to solve trying to believe I am enough, disconnected from all the worldly affairs, I am a hopeless romantic guilty with love keeping me alive. I am a jigsaw puzzle hard to put the pieces together, attach me to books even the ones untouched, I am a story waiting to be read, an awakened human just seconds away from living.
She was the peace.
She was the calm.
She was the storm.
She became the beginning so she was never the end.
She became everlasting, ever changing and wise.
She became the one who was able to live the fullest of lives.
She became the soul.
Why ask me who I am?
Do you know who you are?
Give me a poem about yourself.
Several words that encompass you
I'm a sad story,
I'm a funny story
I'm more than you have time to read on a simple page.
I inspire myself.
I wake up with breath in my lungs and working hands to write
I dislike that you asked me to describe myself because
The thing about writers is that we never really tell each other who we are
We only tell each other the snippets that make us romanticized.
If you ever want to know me,
Invite me to a coffee shop
I'll order a chai tea and I won't tell you a word
The best thing about writing and learning anything about anyone
So I promise,
If you ever want to know me,
Don't ask me a question,
Ask me for coffee.
We'll spend the time playing chicken
Because once you break the bridge.
You may not like me at all
But you will know me.
Every sordid detail.
the blood of wearing the crown
I wore your crown, didnt I?
the thorns embedded in my head.
and I smiled like a homecoming queen,
as my tears painted me red.
I became some fantasized dream,
of what it meant to be alive.
but the narrative written in ink,
it was all a treacherous lie.
heavy is the head,
that wears the crown.
yet worn are my shoulders,
from the fears that hold me down.
why didn’t you tell me?
that the world would cut me up.
before I sat in my satin dress
crying and torn by the world I made up.
What would happen, to my little world
if I traded my crown for a flower?
and I petaled the dress away,
upon the stroke of the midnight hour.
Maybe I’m not always golden,
or radiating light from within.
perhaps I’m a mirrorball,
reflecting the world as i spin.
for all my shades of red,
and my raging hues of blue,
the times I let my heart turn purple,
just to fit the colors of you.
i hope you see me in echos of rose,
and doused in pastel green.
and in my chocolate beaten eyes,
i hope you understand the world I’ve seen.
I was set upon your precipice,
always destined to fall,
maybe you never knew, but
I never wanted the crown at all.
so what happens if I take it off?
can I be a queen with out my crown?
I wonder, will I still be me
if I release it in the water and let it drown?
words from a godless child
Sometimes I feel like a godless child.
Tied up in knots over thoughts
that trip over the other’s meaning.
I have been aching,
aching for You to come and catch me.
There are holes in my once “immaculate” armor.
Now a sieve to a traitor’s touch.
I have wandered to distant lands,
spoken in a different tongue,
shaping and tasting what I thought could be mine.
When battles come and go,
I have only myself to blame.
I have been waiting for a sign.
Any goddamn sign.
That could bring life between these thighs again.
There is no honey left in this sweet rock of mine(1).
Crack me open just to watch me cry out,
“I am where I’ve been.”
Suffice to say,
I’ve never been anywhere as good and as true as where You are.
Does that mean I am no good?
and yet that is where I first saw You.
Nested like new life in that of a heart shaped rock
in the middle of this concrete jungle.
You were as beautiful as a dream, and yet real.
You told me then what I thought was fantasy:
“No one is godless unless they choose to be.”
And even then,
You are always with us.
Ink to reality
Writing confessions in my lunch hour:
the manuscripts that will never be blessed far.
Couldn't see the future for the past
honing my craft,
though it seems I'll need another draft.
Couldn't sway the suit-stoned man,
glaring at me with hope I had another plan.
Didn't know the static road,
right on the left, turn down and seek your mode.
Switch cracked and the numbers blacked,
Couldn't see the traffic
Creativity seemed to keep stagnant
Jump out and the fish still swim
Tried to get by on yet another whim.
Blunt-faced the critics swore
a shallow river flowed here once before.
Thirst ravages my quenched throat,
with bursts of drinking,
though there's no taste for my thinking.
Dusty lover says it's about time
to break the habit that never was mine.
Dredging songs to break a mold
Empty auditorium--back on the road.
No hits but they strike me back.
Rejection papers--love that stack--
spinning ravers help me stay afloat.
Pen warped as I write my style,
flowing loops of prose filled bile.
Speaking of quitting is a slighted wind,
so I must continue my blighted binge.
Magic ideas cast a torn dragnet...
I only ask to be buried with my reality;
Someday I'll see what's really me!
I am full of wishes
and hopes and dreams
full of broken promises
and little white lies uttered from my chapping lips
I am not perfect
nor will i ever be
but i hold myself to such high standards it amazes me
I am cruel and judgmental
I am difficult to please
and even more difficult when people are displeasurable
you might think there's a point in this poem when things begin to turn around
"but i have such a lovely voice and i love endlessly"
i do not
i have never
loved so endlessly
i'm bitter as candy that never turns sweet
and the poisonous fruit people never dare to eat
i'm the smell of burnt love letters and worn out hearts
i don't know what you could possibly see in me
because in truth,
with no exaggeration
this is what i see staring back in every mirror
i am not a work of art
i am me
that is all i'll ever be
Trying to push forward even when I just want to do nothing.
Aspiring to be this
Aspiring to be that.
Nothing I try amounts to anything.
I give up.
I start over.
Friends - will they like me?
How do I know?
How do I be authentic?
I just want to retreat into a book.
The characters are like friends, isn't that good enough?
I need to be stronger.
I need to be better.
Trying to find goals I can accomplish.
Trying to find things I want to do, things I won't peter out on.
I don't know what I want to do with my life.
Do I have to pick something?
I know I have skills.
I have skills.
Painting. I can do that.
Theatre -- sound. I can do that.
Writing. I can do that.
Playing drums. Can I do that?
Reading....I'd rather just do that.
Astrology, Taoism, and Things of That Nature
Gemini, Yin Yang
Dual sided, indecisive
Bitter, pretentious, vain.
-don't tell anyone.
if I do say so myself
The fortune teller spoke
of the moon, Jupiter and Neptune
I smirk, roses clasped
in my yearning hand
The future reads as such:
The spirituality of Hesse
the cynicism of Hesse
The cynicism of Carlin,
the spirituality of him, too
I am two people.
I am kind,
I am compassionate,
I am loving,
I am hardworking,
I am social,
I am adventurous,
I am joyful,
I am content,
I am also resentful,
I am selfish,
I am lazy,
I'd rather stay at home,
I am anxious,
I am sad.
I am two people at once,
And as tiring as it can be,
They are both me.