Friday, May 4, 2012

Some of my poetry...

So in looking to get back on the writing wagon, I figured I'd post some of my old works on here to see if I can get inspired. Some of them are sad, others are funny, and some are just plain uncomfortable. A lot of my poetry doesn't rhyme because I got to a point where I started figuring out that rhyming doesn't always go hand in hand with poetry. I hope someone out there enjoys! :) Here's hoping that I can start writing again. Here we go!

She Tells her Story

She tells her story
But not how you would think
Her story is written;
Still with pencil, still with ink.

She doesn't realize
her story is told through
lines and shadows
Drawn together; colored too.

What she draws; her faith on paper
Charcoals, leads, inks-her tools of trade;
Her story; her truth in intricacy
Her works of art will never fade

She doesn't have to know
Because what I can see
That what she draws for herself
Is what relates for me.

She says she can't write her story
With a pencil or pen
But of course, I disagree.
Her drawings are her story.

She writes her story through shadings, shadows with lines
We all can write our own stories
Stanzas and words are how I tell mine.
But our story is written much the same.

Our tools are what make the difference.
It's Not Art 

She colors her world with
letters and commas
Strewn together
to create her own reality.

Her drawings are stanzas.
No lines, no art
Nothing to evoke emotion.
Just words.

But they're her colors to paint
her life; to redraw her reality
when she can't stand it 
any longer.

When her pain is all but
she turns to those stanzas
that are nothing of art.

Her pen, her pencil
Those lines of the page
With letters and commas
punctuated with rage.

With her hand to the paper;
she finds herself dreaming
of a time when she could
simply write the image in her mind.

She can't draw, manipulate or create;
but she can doodle out a story
of mediocre proportions
because all she has are words.

And those words are just enough
to make her realize
that her world is just right
Colored by the images
Created by her stanzas.

And slowly, but surely she'll start to see
that words and metaphors are just what she needs.
To get her by in this world. and hers.

Stolen Laughter
Every once in awhile I'll reread some of my work and remember where I was at that point in my life. This is one of those works.

That smile, her smirk
is the glue that holds her together
when the world is tearing her apart;
her spirit weakened and weathered.

It used to reach her eyes
Gave her face depth and heart
But it slowly crumbled under
her world ripping apart.

She hides behind her humor
her laughter blankets emotions unknown
But in the end it won't hide her
from the enemy of being alone.

Her laughter is slowly replaced
by shallow breaths and suppressed cries
Because she can't take much more
Of being the only one who tries.

She can't breathe, they stole her
laughter, smiles and fun
Right out from under her
While she battled in a war yet undone.

Impossible to Touch
This is a poem about how I used to (and sometimes still do) feel about people reacting to my back and scars.

Even after all these years, 
it isn't any easier
to supply a rhyme or reason
to map against their irrational fears.

I'm not a contagious disease.
They will never jump from me
onto your skin and force you
to be ill at ease.

It's part of who I have become,
the scars of the person I used to be
Once metaphorical, now physical.
Each day I fight not to succumb.

I fight to take pride in what I wear
Not shrink away from the world
when my clothes reveal
the mountainous terrain of skinned despair.

It's taken me so long to ignore the 'look,' 
the constant confusion, and ignorance.
But sometimes it doesn't matter 
because I'm still missing the precious esteem they took.

One day it won't matter; the valleys of scars
and the pitying stares they send my way
as I walk down the street hunched over.
It won't matter when I'm finally hiding among the stars.

I'm always told that I'm too young
to care what they think but 
fighting a war within myself
while battling the outside world; leaves a hero unsung.

My pride is what holds me together,
my esteem has dripped through the cracks
consumed by the monster slithering through my soul
Forcing me to open the parts of my heart I kept tethered.

One day it will matter that I care so much
about the pain, mentally and physically;
But in the end, I'll always be that girl
That was impossible to touch.
City Dreams 
City Dreams started out because I had a verse stuck in my kind of took on a life of its own and became a three part prose.

Cityscapes; late night rapes
A young child lost; full of scrapes
Urban life; a fool's escape.

Buildings loom; alleys black
Innocence lost; souls lack
Rural child under attack.

His story is common; running away 

from the worse known prey of
what even the devil can't slay.

Stuck in the alleys; alone in the dark
Cringing in the corner; naked and stark.
Remembering the adventure he wished to embark.

He only wanted fun; a night on the town.
Wishing for freedom when no one else was around.
Instead he got what he paid for; alone and on the ground.

Brutally beaten, bitten and bleeding
Images flash of the night preceding
She was a succubus in need of a feeding.

She led him out of the crowded bar;
He wanted to take her; she was so bizarre.
Instead she took it just a little too far.

She whirled on his motionless skin;
Removed his clothes while she bit in.
He was paralyzed and tantalized
until she released him with a grin.

"Run away now, boy." she whispered. He heard it clear.
But his body wouldn't move; his muscles frozen in fear.
She shoved his lifeless body and he watched her disappear.

His memories faded, oh so fast.
Shaking his head; trying to make them last.
He's stuck in this hell; without a future, without a past.

His greatest wish before it all began
was to be free from work, free from reason; and so he ran.
Found by the worst of evils with a plan.


Succubus Sins... Sequel to City Dreams

She watches him from the rooftops as he rocks to and fro. 
Considering when to make her move; to rescue the innocent from below.
She enjoyed the scene of panicked distress; but now it's more than just a show.

When she bit him, she tasted more than just fresh blood and fear. 
She tasted his soul; her conscience she could not hear. 
Blinded by her foolishness; she released him with a sneer.

Disappearing was all she could do; for she lost herself confused. 
She'd lost count how many times she'd left a man or boy in this alley; beaten and abused. 
But this one was different; emotions raged in her as she brazenly refused.

This little boy; this young man that was such a simple meal. 
Couldn't possibly become anything more than a bloody sample she would steal. 
But something stirs deep within; she eyes him once more as he slowly begins to reveal.

He stands; the black alley wall is his support. 
Glancing around for any help; a last resort. 
He moves his legs painstakingly slow; his face contorts.

Suddenly he looks up; as though he can feel her. 
Their eyes lock and he shows no fear; just bites back a whimper. 
She stands in the winds; her hair whipping like wild fire.

He doesn't run like all the rest. 
Even when she appears in front of him; his only emotion seemed impressed. 
Her teeth glinted as she leered; but he simply had one thing to confess.

"I am fascinated." was all he said. Her eyes blazing fire. 
Burning now with unbeknownst desire. 
She removes his bruises with a brush of her small hands; all that's required.

This small interaction; the silence speaking volumes of truth. 
His body hurts no longer; he's no longer a troubled youth. 
He questions his memories; there's no way they could be the proof.

That this beauty that stands before him was the very same 
evil that tried to take life away and burned his skin to flames. 
But the difference was when he struggled to stand; she came.

She came back. She returned to his side without a word. 
Though the idea that he should trust her was absurd; 
The look in her eyes was enough for him to let the unexpected occur.

As they ascended upon the sky; it was a feeling a utter disbelief. 
She was holding this human in her arms; after she almost drained him beyond grief. 
And he watched her as he realized that this woman was nothing but a thief.

A thief of souls, hearts and men. 
She has stolen what's most precious to him. 
But he's not willing to fight her; unsure who would win.

The succubus is fighting to be innocent in his head. 
And she's winning the war; because his conscience is hanging by a thread. 
He fits within her shape as any man would like they were in bed.

But this is so much more than lust; more than animal attraction. 
She knows because of the mere feeling of mutual satisfaction; 
When she touches his skin to hers, even when she became his soul's distraction.
Truth in Fear ...Sequel to Succubus Sins

This succubus of ageless generations; 
and this young man of endless revelations. 
Such the pair they make as they float across the sky with empty complications.

She sets them upon a cliff overlooking the seas 
He's so far from the city; chilled by the breeze. 
But no fear lies within; concerned at his ease.

"I will do you no more harm. Please don't fear me." she speaks 
His reply, spoken in the wind, "I do not fear you; but why was I so weak?" 
She steps away and turns her body towards the answers she seeks.

"I am a soul stealer. I destroy those I touch when I need it most." 
"And I was just another unwilling host?" 
He would never comprehend what it means to be this close.

She teeters on the edge of the cliff of hope; 
while he struggles to figure out a way to force his emotions to cope. 
Even through what he doesn't know; he reaches out for her hand to stroke.

They stay like this; these two beings of disproportionate sorts. 
For an endless time it seems; they had no need to court. 
She could touch him without stealing him; he was her last resort.

They crumble to the ground; upon this cliff of hopes and dreams; 
Wrapped together where nothing is as it may seem 
These two beings; of woven desire and passionate screams.

"Your name? What do they call you, boy?" she whispers in his hair. 
His mumbles are lost in the rocks-but not to her as he says, "Flare." 
She laughs at this joke of the gods; his confusion obvious with a glare.

"My sweet boy; my laughter is of our names in irony. I am Rain." 
Flare smiles with her; his confusion subsides and frustration contained. 
His words followed, "Perhaps opposites, in all ways but one."

How could this be? How can this have happened when just hours ago 
She flaunted her model body scantily clad with a show. 
Hunting; waiting for any guy to peak her fancy and start the flow.

The Weight of the World...

I wrote this about three years ago when I was in a low point of my life.

She's a little girl in a grown-up world;
Surrounded by the big bad world.
Simple words with such resolute conviction, 
they only tell half the story.
She forces herself awake everyday;
Prying herself from a world of books,
music, and endless passions--
All to be drained away by the simple
Mundane tasks of life.
LIFE. Such a small word yet filled with something
No one has ever been able to capture...
Not according to her.
Because life, to her, is making IT.
What is IT? The IT that she's always struggling for.
Fighting for. That one small accomplishment
of making OTHERS happy; OTHERS proud?
of doing as she's told; staying under the radar.
But she suffers within for those weeds
of doubt grow within her consciousness
and wait for her to water them with her
indecision, unreasonable need to take upon her shoulders
the world within which she lives.
The work she does is never enough, yet she slaves
over an apprentice far more appreciated.
But she'll never speak a word or breathe a hint of unhappiness
whilst she's among those few who affect that world she carries.
It wouldn't matter in the least; she knows this much. 
But she's surrounded. Walls crumbling down, caving her in
forcing her to break.
All before she takes on yet another impossible burden.
A burden of pride for her family, and herself.
To force herself into her scholarly endeavor, unfathomable energy
stolen from her soul. But it leads her down the path
of making IT as she fights to keep herself moving.
The weight of what she so stubbornly carries
buries her beneath herself; the weeds of herself planting
into the ground.
She's stuck. She's lost. She's everywhere. And nowhere.
All at once. But does it matter?
Why would it? She's the Titan Atlas. 
As long as she doesn't drop the world
at everyone's feet....she's invisible.
She's rubble and debris, 
but the weight of the world still bears on
..she never dropped the world.
It dropped her.
I wrote this about my home when I lived in Alaska. I always missed the beach.

I feel the sand between my toes
I hear the waves crashing, thunderous against the shore
Straggling clouds shaping the sunset
Colors bordering rose, and grey
The sun slowly lowering itself to slumber
As I walk along the shore, I see ships in the horizon
A gap in the line of lights, where bridge meets tunnel
Music in the distance along Atlantic Avenue
Journeying along the shore, seashells and footprints
Barefoot and rolled up jeans
Splashing each other as we make our way along the beach
Stopping only to write our names in the sand
Simply to be washed away
Much the way life works
I’ll forever love the ocean and all its symbolism
Freedom in the sweet salty air and conscience in the crashing waves
I’ll always be able to feel that air, hear that music
No matter how far away I am
The good old 757, my home always

Your eyes search me to see
The need inside me burning
So hot that I can't handle
the fire you fuel with your white ice
But I'll absolutely try.

As my skin burns so close to yours
You feel my pain as I dream of ice 
Your touch is cool, ice on fire 
But you'll melt away
Because my soul is flaming with fear
But I'll absolutely try

This flame pulses inside me
And it thunders you
You hear every pulse
whispering 'ice, ice, ice'
You know it's screaming for you 
And even if you melt away my flame
I'll absolutely try.

Can you taste my fear?
Or am I still too burned even your ice
can't heal me
I'll never be a perfect spring of water
But if you'll just take a drink
We can absolutely try.

Even though you may freeze up
around everyone so much so
that you burn everyone 
around you...I'm still going to say:
I absolutely need you.
I absolutely miss you.
I'll absolutely love you.

A world of colors, 
choices to make
Find the right one, 
I'm yours to take
Mold me, move me 
I'm yours to break.

In this world of decisions
Construct me to be the girl
of your world and illusions
Because without this magic
It'll always be the same conclusion.

Without this clay to mold;
I'm simply a lump of coal
Under enough pressure to turn to gold
But as your Play-Doh,
Make me something worth your soul.

Lie to me and roll me into another design
Mixture of colors into rainbows;  let your emotion rule
while mine intertwines
Construct a mold of what you see in me
And to life I will resign

I'll no longer be unreal; yours to keep
Make me whole, pull me together
And finally show us the rewards to reap
As your mold, your creation; I'll be yours 
I'm Play-Doh...and when you're done;
Crumble me up in one clean sweep.

Thanks for reading! 

No comments:

Post a Comment