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.