Here, I sit, bereft,
Listening for lost voices,
In dingy car lots,
Remnants of a time,
When I could still call your name,
And pray mine followed,
Life was better then,
When we were young and too bold,
When you called me yours.
Category: Poetry
Only You
I’ll be by your side
Until you can look at me
With happiness in your eyes
That rivals the you
I didn’t get the chance to love.
Tired.
I care for you more delicately than I do my pen.
I consider your voice over the hundreds vying in my mind.
I reach out to you with hope I believed long dead.
But no more.
Because this has become a game now—
And I’m so tired of twisted things.
I forfeit.
Random Scrawl
The first post of March is a random, dreary thing that came to mind sometime ago. Adore it. I believe I posted it on my Instagram, but I can’t be certain. Social media links are below for any of you that actually want to check if I did, haha. But otherwise, here it is.
Here’s to the new month.
How can you just forgive everything I’ve done?
When here I am—feeling like I profane the very ground I walk upon.
Is it really that easy to fall asleep?
Because I’ve been sitting here, angry and waiting to remember how to adore my own seams.
Do you think I’ll get tired eventually?
Of writing these awful things that make me question the light in me.
They’re Mine.
Haiku Monday #11
My own confidence,
Transpiring against me now,
Crippling all I love.
Goodbye
Because you guys seem to like the random scrawls I come up with, here’s another one. A bit too melancholy though. But at least it has a title.
Red-nosed and seated on the grass,
Broken by the echoes of ages past,
Winter’s expanse has brought the gray,
Somehow, I’m glad that you got away,
Because your stone replacement can’t suffer the cold,
But now I must shiver here, on my own.
Untitled
This was just my random scrawl of the day. If any of you guys think of a nice title for it, comment it below. It sorely needs one.
The skies are crying tonight,
Their tears force the world to shine,
Dripping down, silent, with the promise of better days,
They don’t wash things away,
The sidewalk’s a jeweler in the rain,
Filled with gum drops and fake, glinting stains,
So, I pocket both hands and trail the sad, yellow paint,
But it doesn’t show me the way,
My head’s been a mess for so long,
I look up and wonder if I should go on,
But the lights that come toward me trap me in place,
I can’t walk away,
I’m tumbling down again,
The presents got me tangled in my own skin,
There’s people screaming, panicked, yet steady gazed,
They all look my way,
What should I do now?
I’m so tired, I can’t figure it out,
But after so long, there’s one thing I’ve learned—
The world will continue to turn.
Haiku Monday #10
Celebrate and cheer.
Poetry isn’t dead, my dear.
Haiku’s still prevail.
Haiku Monday #9
The night is still young
The sun isn’t my dictator
I’m my own master.