Believe Me

I stare her plainly in the eyes
honesty is the placement of the syllables shared.

She looks back on me hands
in her chin and eyes twinkling.

The night is early but feels so late.
The stars are hidden but burning within.

Burning as brightly as the hair she bobs,
the passion she fails to recognize she owns.

Tomorrow is for dancing.
Today was for talking.

Where from there? I'm unsure.

Surely everything has a place.

Believe me and we'll get there.

Poetry

i want to write poetry
poetry about sunshine and rainbows
because this world needs something to smile about

i want to write poetry
poetry about first loves and first kisses
because my world needs something to dream about

i want to write poetry
poetry about siblings and mothers, fathers who care
because my world needs some honesty

i want to write poetry
poetry about rags to riches and magic in wishes
because this world needs something to hope about

i want to write POETRY
the kind of magic that words cannot contain
the stuff of fairies and tales.
i want to write poetry.
words that move and inspire
words of our heart's desires.
i want to write poetry
reasons for living
and the dam to these damn tears i'm crying.
i want to write poetry.
anything for poetry.
someone give me some fucking poetry.

Late at night the poem calls.

late at night the poem calls
and to the page my pen falls.

late at night the wine flows
and to your bed my body goes.

late at night the streets are quiet
and the moment whispers try it.

late at night the moon is bright
and life around seems just right.

Is there a specific person to whom you write your poems? Have you shared them with her?

There are sometimes specific people to whom I write, and other times there are not. I would most definitely not share with him or her. However, I keep a blog of poetry, so they may find it all on their own.

Whatcha wanna know?

Since you're a "poet at heart," who is your favorite poet to read?

Oh this is so difficult! I wish I was well read enough to give a good answer. I have loved Emily Dickinson, Ezra Pound, TS Eliot, and EE Cummings. I have read Frost and Wordsworth and Longfellow. I have loved a lot of poems, and a lot of poems have struck me. Lately, I've liked Ginsberg's Howl.

Perhaps I should tell you, though, that I may not be a poet after all. I used to feel forced into writing. Now, I hardly have emotional bursts and urges. Perhaps I'm not a poet after all.

Whatcha wanna know?

crappy poem #?

though clouds are gray
and the sun is bleak.
though rain is near
and I can't sleep.
though life is hard
and we all fall.
despite it all
there's a call

to do your best
to try, to fight
to make it through
the darkest night
to live your life
because i say:
that life can suck
but you,
you have worth

help me

help me figure out me
ryan screams at the sea

help me figure out me
bridget pounds out in beat

help me figure out me
speaks spencer to his bottle

help me figure out me
whispers maggie to the stars

help me figure out me
i say to the mirror

no response
is my response

i guess we're alone out here

headache

my head hurts

my head hurts in this terrible caffeinated sleepless tantrum.
i try to calm it with sweet piano melodies and eyes closed for sleep,
but my head hurts.
my head hurts too much to sleep,
because it is trying to figure out why my heart hurts.
why my heart hurts after weeks of silence
why my heart hurts now
why my heart hurts so terribly much
and yet my heart doesn't hurt at all

my heart doesn't feel.
and these tears that are about to fall...
they aren't real.
because my heart doesn't hurt
it never hurt at all

it didn't hurt when you hugged me
and my body felt electricity.
it didn't hurt when you smiled contently
as i was exiled from your room.
it didn't hurt when you didn't talk to me
for what seemed like weeks.
it didn't hurt when you chastised me
for not being the best i could be.

my heart never hurt.
it didn't hurt at all.
my heart never hurt.
you don't matter at all.

I'm a mess

I'm unraveling,
waiting as I come undone.
The thread of me came loose with you
and now I'm shredded through.

I once was strong,
a heart in hand
and ready to be thrown.

Now I'm scared.
I lost my heart.
And when it was found,
I clutched it close for
no one else to hold.

It's not for her,
or even you.
Because, I'm a mess.
I've come undone.

How's Life?

the music hums
and my feet beat
there's nothing to be done.

I'm alone
and in my room
the magic's here to be found.

I move
and tears fall-
from sad to happy let them come,

because my heart tears from my chest
when I think of you.
But, there's nothing to be done.
I'm alone, waiting to be found.
Let whoever come.