your vision, your voice
I like the idea of eating cookies with hot cocoa in winter,
Lots of chocolate, fun, and warmth,
Watching Christmas movies inside with my family,
Wrapped up in a blanket, curled up in a ball,
Or outside with my friends,
Throwing snowballs till we fall
You wake up with no senses
Over the coming seconds
New smells flood your brain
Dizzy lights dance across the sky
Hearing beeps and muffled voices
Being lifted in the air, feeling the doctor’s hands on your wrists
Going home, in a comfy stroller
Looking around at new sites
Houses in deep shades
Cars in light shades
A bright sky
Things you cannot possibly describe
Falling asleep in a crib upstairs, your mother next to you
She looks at you as your eyes close, suddenly afraid of the darkness
The first day of school awaits
Colors everywhere: red, green, yellow, blue, and purple
Everything is so bright and welcoming
The teacher welcomes you into the classroom
Sitting next to you is your longtime neighbor, and you realize something
You’re going to be here for a long time
The first day of middle school is before you
You don’t want to get up, but you do anyway
Dragging yourself downstairs towards the bus
You head to school
There is your elementary school crush, who waves to you
You wave back and go to your classes
Heading to 9th grade is no sweat
You already went from elementary to middle school
Your mother drives you
She gives you a peck on your cheek
Saying goodbye to her only baby
Its the last day of senior year
Hanging out with your friends
Getting the courage to ask your crush to dance
A kiss under the night sky
Stars dancing, a nice breeze
Heading to college
A new world
Your mother sobbing in the crowd
Hugs you tight and wants never to let go
You wave goodbye
You meet a person you want to grow old with
Meeting their parents is a challenge
Your partner switches views
You move on
This is the one
You clink glasses and celebrate
You propose under the evening sky, a sea of oranges and violets
They accept and slip the ring on
One kiss
At the wedding
Your mom greets you and walks you down the aisle
You give her a hug
Your life is starting
You kiss under the trellis filled with white blossom
Heading home in your car
Talking about the beautiful day
You have your first child
A beautiful name, Amelia Rose
Your first blossom on the family tree
A second baby, Lily White
Another blossom on the family tree
Your kids head off to college
It’s your turn to wave goodbye
Just like your mother, those many years ago
Your mothers funeral
She was already declining
You put a white blossom on her casket
Whispering a prayer
Your kid’s babies
They are brought into the world
Being a grandparent is exciting
You only wish your mother could see you now
And now it’s your turn
You’ve already accepted your fate
You say goodbye to your loved ones
As the last candle flickers
You slip into the darkness
Goodbye smell of candles
Goodbye to the touch of wood on your bed
Goodbye water, the taste still on your tongue
Goodbye family, holding their hands
Goodbye voices of your daughters
Back where you came from
Goodnight
Liquid air,
like tar pouring into my stomach,
branding the walls,
stilling the heart.
The tar floods your body.
The more there, the faster it pours in.
eventually it reaches your brain,
and stills that too.
The tar makes you numb.
It fills in the empty spaces,
it makes everything in you feel alone.
Your heart can’t see your brain,
your brain can’t find your stomach,
your response can’t find your body,
and your words can’t find your mouth.
What’s the point of fueling a broken body.
Why would you feed a lonely heart.
Just let the sludge fill you,
and you wont feel a thing.
With dark shaded thorns below,
golden columbs of ambition and determination holding her up,
oh how she looks like an eager sparrow,
and one can’t help but offer a hand
in hope the pretty creature will take a break from soaring
to rest upon it.
A beautiful lie
Color returns to the world
Just to leave once more
Use your time wisely,
for life is too short
and regret is painful
I know an unwritten man
Untold words, a thousand lines
Cascading authenticity
Discarding all but “mine”
Painted fabrications told in slanted light
To appearingly sing beautifully in minor key
Only touched elegance achieved in anonymity
Is to bequeath what’s known as “me”
I have a problem trying to find my poet voice
Powerful, provocative, presenting
Is what it’s supposed to be
So why does it fluctuate?
Going up and down in tone
Never constant or strong
I want to put meaning into every word and not hold back
why can’t I find it?
I have my words
I am able to speak
So why can’t I hear the voice inside me out loud?
Speak speak
I want to speak up
Pronounce everything properly
I don’t want to fumble, stutter, or talk too fast
It has to be perfect
Rehearse, repeat, remember
Why can’t I remember my own poem?
It’s not enough to simply write or remember the poem
They are of my own mind
A piece of me
I am the poem, so messing up isn’t an option
Because…
What is a poet without their voice?
What is a poem without a flavorful twang of verbal expression?
A stagnant sea of lost letters perhaps, which I forbid my poems to become
So, these words are for nobody’s throat except mine
These are the lyrics of my desperate, wailing soul
I may be
Wavering, uncertain, anxious
While trying to portray eloquence
Head high, standing tall, eyes a universe away
I open the world that is my poet voice
Resounding such a willful and fierce prowess that when read only my voice is heard, my emotions, simply me as a whole should ring through the heads of those who relate or empathize with my poems
Yes, I am trying to find my poet voice
Now, these thoughts are not so young.
The last time I saw you I had my mother’s teeth;
Six thousand dollars down my throat to solve it.
You sit kindly spaced from me, a considerate foot
Between us on the bench. I wonder if you know.
Of course, I saw you in the swoop of your nose.
You haven’t looked over yet. I examine my newspaper
As though it held my secrets. You reach down and tug
At one woolen sock. My coat slips from a shoulder and
I pull it back into place. You cough. The bus doesn’t come.
As I look at you as you are now, I wonder
If you remember what I remember. The rules are like this:
You stand here and I pass the ball. I heard since then
That all our friends are gone. Out of town or dead, each.
I heard since then you married a couple times.
You who bloomed are different and not. You can tell what caterpillar
Turns into a butterfly or moth. The same hair floats
On your neck as it did back when I was taller.
A bus arrives. It’s not mine. You rise slowly and ascend the steps.
I pray a goodbye to us both as it whisks you away.
The fire burns beside me. We chat
And speak of anything but rain.
He gets the place ready to ignite.
We make the bed and dust the picture frames
Sweep but do not mop. I take out the trash–
He tells me it’s the easiest job he’s seen in years.
He tells me it’s already flammable. He tells me
I’m already on fire, that I saw tears and knew to burn.
He praises me for being ready to blaze.
When we’re done, I pack up. It’s cleaner that way, he says,
Better you know what you are saving before it is burning.
We exit, hand in hand, and I ignore the feeling–
His fingers scorch, palms enkindle,
But I squeeze harder.
With one breath the house is gone.
Ash rests on the tip of my nose.
He nudges me.
It’s better off this way.
And we go ahead and climb the stairs,
Suitcase wheels clacking behind us.
When he releases my hand,
I feel the warmth still.
Across my palm, four seared marks.
I look away and clench it into a fist.
Even now he has not let me go.