Disconnecticutt

And I feel a little disconnected:
internet cables,
dial tones,
and millions of miles
connected only by phones.
Anticipation,
my heart skips a beat
waiting for you...
are you waiting for me too?
This disconnect
I've come to know
through hours waiting by the phone,
it only seems to grow.
And you,
do you feel it too?
Or is this disconnect something
just for me to go through?

The Way You Make Me Feel <3

Never
11/27/09

Never been this way before,
never my first, never my love,
the lovely little things
you'll never know you do.
Never felt this before,
never the flutter,
a heart open wide
never for anyone but you.

Smelled like spring today...

April
11/9/09

Memories have scent
like the day we met:
March snows and April rains,
cheeks flushed by cool breeze,
the smell of winter taking leave
through the warming of the trees.
Heart grown cold from frosty months
now heated by your touch,
sparks that, to this day,
will never be replaced.

Hands
11/9/09

The way your face lights up
when you laugh for real,
the sharp angles and smooth lines
that shape your skin and bones,
the spot below your shoulder
where our bodies form like clay,
and how your hand fits into mine,
melting together, in an infinite way.

Identifying The Emotion

Forehead drops
meeting a heavy heart
halfway down my chest
and sinking deep,
rejection sets.

Love, Love, Love

Thirteen
8/10/09

I feel it -
words embody an utter cliche
ripe from overuse
by starry-eyed, thirteen year old girls.
Behind the stereotype
lies something beautiful and real.
The truth of such a phrase
substantiated only by the bearer -
the dizzying vertigo of falling into you,
unlike anything I felt at thirteen.

Life, Normalcy, and the Pursuit of Something Better

8/4/09

Years gone by
Caring about where you were,
and where was I,
but even more
when we became You and I.
Flawed from the start;
Even our togetherness
couldn't stop the fights.
Hard bones thud soft skin,
black and blue and white.
Now I measure my life
through weekends
and long nights,
days spent by his side.
He will never be you
and that's better than right.

These past few days, I've been a literary explosion...

Growing Up
8/1/2009

How we bloom
and who we become,
we rise from our bones,
and grow like bulbs.
We are products of each other,
beautiful vines
intertwined.



Butterflies
8/2/09

You still give me that feeling,
my stomach giving way,
making room for an expanding heart
and lungs filled with breath caught short.

Three, Lettered Words
July 30, 2009

We throw “I miss you” at eachother,
experts with ball and glove.
Phrased within, it hints of words
we wish we had the voice to say.
Combinations of consonants and vowels;
Letters that mean nothing
Until given a breath of their own.

Life is a gift; don't waste it.

The Past

The past has such heavy weight
like sunken ships
and ancient cement barricades,
so permanent
even in their irrelevancy.


Untitled #2

All I can imagine
is a burial
a flag draped gently
and army fatigues,
those boots that didn't
fit you right
blasting from your feet,
my heart a million miles
away with you
dying overseas.

Possibly my two least favorite poems...

Sometimes
May 12, 2009

Like a bad cliché,
I’m
falling
faster and faster.
I’m afraid, terrified.
Still, hopelessly
Too Reluctant
To vocalize
Anything important,
Anything real.

This brick façade,
This concrete wall
I’ve mastered,
Plastered
and super glued
Around my heart:
It’s only
a shield
for broken
Pieces.

And falling
Falling
Falling
Again?
This was not
Part of my plan.
But this irrational,
Insane,
incomparable fear?
It’s so damn worth it.


Edit: Upon re-reading this, I've come to the conclusion that I went through a Sylvia Plath phase and FAILED MISERABLY. I am much better when I'm writing me, as opposed to adopting another poet's style.


April 2009

I am a fragment.
Smash me.
Break me.
Re-break me.
Sharp shards
And shingles,
Shattered
Battered
Bruised
And bare.
Glue me back together
Like I was always there.

Edit: I spent so long on this poem, and it breaks my heart that it still sucks haha

Cancelling out the day

And once again, writing poetry is the only thing I get accomplished in Poetry class. Sounds appropriate, but it's really not, especially when the focus of the class is scansion.



Out of doors, framed by your rusted teal car,
flickering lights like fireflies fall,
zipping past, bright colors fly and waste away,
Beneath, the pavement blurs and cancels out the day.



I clung to your bed sheets
Sinking claws into claws,
Filling voids with piercing words.
Tacky white glue
always dries on permanent.
Forgotten paper hearts
always tear so well.

I'll bring home the turkey if you bring home the bacon.

Productive Procrastination... it's a beautiful thing...


Years Lost Feb. 23rd 2009

Backpacks filled with useless things,
Wintry days in musty sheets,
Concrete sidewalks, empty wishes,
Broken promises, plastic kisses.
Heated words rip past my skin,
Shift right through the lies you spin.

I am a frivilous liar.
They fall from my lips,
buttons from a blouse,
sprinkles from your birthday cake.

It'll take more than just a breeze to make me fall over.

My life is a dissappointing, incredible, half-broken, brand-new, complete and utter mess... and it's beautiful. After disillusionment into believing my less-than-perfect, wholly disfunctional relationship with Matt was going to last forever, I finally--reluctantly--gave up. But this wasn't really a giving up; it was a letting go. Letting go of a relationship that died eight months ago: A relationship that died long before it had a chance to grow.

And I am finally happy. Finally really actually happy.

And I, like a horrible cliche, am finding myself.