Author: Eloisea

Sometimes I wish we could trade brains
It’s not like I don’t like mine
But I get bored of the same senses
How does it feel to be another
To feel joy, feel grief as you
Why do your feet drag across the floor
Is my yellow your grey?
What is it like to trade senses

Skinny waists, hard to embrace
A maze of cosmetics paints a perfect face
Flawless skin and a button nose
She was a thorn, her role model, a rose
A search for acceptance, tough to pursue
A puzzle of norms, everyone must salute
Beneath glossy pages and pixelated screens
It’s false advertisement and not what it seems
Lack of confidence, social media in control
Standards these days impossible to uphold
Pain overcomes her, a knife to her skin
Cut these imperfections and make her thin
Beauty is pain, that’s what they say
Count your calories, watch your weight
Drowned in judgment, aimed to look best
It’s all a mindset, a societal jest

I walk on a road
Trying to find my way to reason
Go left
Or go right
I don’t know anymore
I walk on this road unsure of its destination
I go straight
Straight on the path of another, I see
Watching their movements I follow them
One step in front of the other waiting for them to see
They turn staring at me
It feels like an eternity with their eyes on me
until I realize
They’re waiting for me
I walk until I reach them at the end of the line
I walk with them side by side for what seems like forever
I walk straight at the crossroad but pause
as I realize they’ve gone right
On a different path than mine

Who made the light leave?
Who made her step away,
and never come back?
Who pushed her back into the corner

This person,
I mean —
The one
Who took her away from the people she loves
Or used to
Love

The one who
Didn’t think about anyone else
Who lives in her nightmares
Who is without a face

Now she spreads her wings
Now she’s slipped through our fingertips

I don’t know exactly what a funeral is.
I do know how you’re supposed to act
How to cry
How to feel
How to wonder why
Which is what I’ve been doing all day

Tell me,
What else should I have done?
Doesn’t everything leave us eventually?

Tell me,
Why did you go,
And drag her with you.

Sticky sweet sweat dribbles
down my face. Running away,
From nothing but me

A warm breeze slaps my face.
Hot sticky rain is let go
from each cloud, it cries.

Cool wind pulls my hair.
A frozen feeling grows,
at my fingertips.

The pond creates an
icy crust. Could you
stand on it? CRACK! SPLASH!

She pondered
as she looked out onto
the wide horizon
Her heart pounded in her chest like a beating drum
As it rose to her throat

The tide pulled her back and forth
She swayed with the sea’s wind

The white dress she wore
Straggled in the wind
It flowed like the water
Of the deep
blue
waters

On her knees
she whispered
out of cold
dry
colorless
lips
Who are you?

On her back
she laid
alone

Sleep

The day he left us,

it was just another day in life,

“We’re putting him to sleep.”

they told a 6-year-old me,

I didn’t process though,

I didn’t cry

like I should’ve

I strapped on my velcro shoes and went to school,

The day didn’t feel like it

should have

the wind that danced around me was a ballerina light on its feet,

not whipping and twirling too violently as it

should have

The lights of the cafeteria were tenderly illuminating the world,

not blinding and overwhelming as they

should have

Only when my not-gone-as-should-have day

ended,

only when I was sitting around the dinner table

did I realize

I realized he wasn’t there begging for food under the table,

I realized never again would he be ,

I couldn’t grasp why he left,

I asked where he was,

they told me

“He’s gone, honey,

we put him down today.”

I finally understood what

I hadn’t before,

that he would close his eyes forever,

that I wouldn’t be there with him in his last moments,

I cried,

wet, salty tears formed floods that swept away the whole world,

I cursed myself for not knowing,

for living happily when he could live

no more.

everything was only regret and

loss,

temporarily.

I built up my world again from the ruins the tears had left behind.

I learned to dance with the wind again

to see the lights as softly glowing again,

Now I sometimes think about that

too-normal day

I see that I didn’t realize the truth

that morning I left for school instead of

staying with him.

I see that I despised myself for not knowing until

too late.

I was hard on myself,

I see that.

But I still wish for a

goodbye.

So now I say it softly to the empty room,

“Goodbye Toby”

A blank page is the gap
between real world and imagination
Think and do

A blank page is bitterness
The words aren’t coming
But the frustration is

A blank page is trapped
Imprisoned in the everlasting white
No way to escape

A blank page is
Ideas of what was
And what could have been
Inspiration kept hidden
Deep within the soul

A blank page is forever
Everyone will move on with the world
But the blank page will stay
Remnants of the past
Sparks of creativity
Hidden forever

the sun scorches our hot backs
it’s not a pleasant sort of tingle,
prickle or sensation

it’s of feeling like your skin is on fire
so unreasonably hot
like being baked in an oven
unable to get out

we trudge through the streets
shoes getting stuck in the melting,
sticky, tar of the road

there is sweat leaking
through our clothes

It cascades in salty puddles
on the parched sidewalk

when it seems like the heat
is too much to bare

that we will curl up on the grass
and drown in the searing light
of the sun

a gentle jingle erupts in the sultry air

the sound of the ice cream truck
of cool, frosty treats

of air conditioning whistling through our hair
of pure, delicious, goodness dribbling down our chins

we charge towards the familiar sound
and fumble through our pockets for coins
like our lives depend on it

the ice cream man
gives us a cheery smile
and presents us with

ice cream and popsicles in
all different colors

we lick our icy treats
greedily gulping down the arctic slush

before we know it
it’s all gone

and all that is left
is a full belly
and a sense of relief on
this
sweltering
summer
day

Poems hide
in your closet
in the pockets
of your old coats
pretending
not to matter.

Poems hide
in the valley
between
the snow-capped
mountains
tricking you
into thinking
they don’t want
to be found.

Poems hide
on your bookshelf
peaking at you
from their perch
between the pages
feining innocence
when you finally
open your eyes.