I Am An Idea Lost

I am an idea lost,
Finding my way out.
I am a deep pocket,
Full of growing doubt.

I am the empty pen,
Never thrown away.
I am a blank notebook,
Write in me, okay?

I am mycelium,
Chatter underground.
I am the sun and stars
Always to be found.
I am a creeping vine,
Seeking new stories.
I am a windblown tree,
Reaching for glory.

I am a fermata,
More than a beat long.
I am a quarter rest,
Right where I belong.
I am the empty space,
Filling up the room.
I am beautiful sounds,
Bursting into bloom.

Slow Down

There's always gonna be
mean names and bad aims
in corners
And dumb brains
in skyscrapers

There's always gonna be
bad days
and frantic Mays.

Slow down
Don't drown even in total darkness.

Never let yourself become
so reckless
with this life you have
that you lose rationale to live.

We're all dying anyway.
So why not just do your best today
And see about tomorrow?

Hiding Behind Humor

There's a lot you can
hide behind humor.
No one suspects
the girl laughing,
her head thrown back
and a grin across her face
But you never know, do you?

It's on the inside that counts.

shiny hair: check
high heels:check
fake smile plastered on: check
don't forget makeup to cover up those dark circles: check
"How are you?"
"Fine."

I'm melting,
like the witch they say,
slowly fading from
what old memories tell me to be
The clothes are itchy
against my burning skin
Hollow cheeks and carved in stomachs
"How are you?"
"Fine."

Falling

Someone turned off the lights
I am lost out of fright

F
a
l
l
i
n
g
Until that's all I know
Knowing darkness
I reach out
only to spin
only for it to get darker
Where did the light go?

Nothing beneath my feet
to remind me to eat
My stomach rocketing
to my throat
Hold it in
hold it in
hold it all

In my own head.
Alice fell down a rabbit hole
but it was just a dream.
I'm falling into hell
but it is just a nightmare.

It Blurs

Sometimes
my mind and darkness
swirl
Mix, mix, mix
Until

I have to ask myself
Where does one begin and
the other end?

Rhyming?

I'm trying to rhyme
but I don't have the time

to make phrases like mazes
and tongue twisters like hazes
To make you think like a song
so I can prolong
the fact that I used
a dictionary for this.

My Time Is Old

Creak. Squeak.
My old rocker groans under me as I shift
under layer of worn quilts that
do nothing to ease the chill seeping to my bones
The cold creeping into my sighing soul.

Sun-warmed
Smooth
Rough.
The rocks make a wave
of shape as I run
my fingers over the rows
Reassurance that one thing hasn't changed
fills me.

Even as I look straight ahead,
gone is the bare chestnuts
replaced by babbling birds
swiping squirrels
and flowers awakening
with a yawn and stretch.
The layers of mountains
go on forever,
blending into the blue sky.

Creak.
I know I'll never make it out of here.
My soul is old,
my time here is old
and done.
I only wish I could leave April with family.

Poor girl
all alone
At least she can read-
what I'd give to read:
Anything.
April's voice gives me
comfort where no amount of blankets can,
Soothing
Rolling it's way into my mind
The words run like water
Over jagged rocks
There may be breaks
there may be rough, bubbly patches
But it breaks through
Strong.

---
I wrote this for my English class. It is from the view of Aunt Birdy in Ghost Girl by Delia Ray.

White. White. White.

The sky never ends
it goes on father than the sun
Stretching father than you'll ever see
With infinite snowflakes
Falling, falling, falling
nothing you can do, to stop, stop, stop it

Arms spread wide
Tongue catches the frozen particles
Eyes squeezed shut against the world

The world that is bigger than you'll
ever be, be, be
In that moment
you are small, small, small
Just a speck on the
grand spectrum of
life the universe and everything
everything, everything
You have your time slot in forever
do what you can
before you wash away, away, away
in the flood of white
White snow.

White sky.
White houses
sidewalks
grass
trees
A white world.
White.
White,
White.

What is Camp?

It's
waking up to chiming bells
and groans surrounding you
and a rising sun.

It's
singing so loud everyone is heard
trying to play a speed card game quietly
running around in a old ball gown and magicians hat
glitter in your hair
getting a mud facial in a creek
hugs
laughing in the rain
Chuckles Benedict

It's
the taste of
instant oatmeal
sweet potato biscuits
morning dew
open woods

It's
the sound of
slamming screen doors
screams of laughter
strums of guitar
clanking plates
purring cicadas
roaring campfires

It's
the feel of
wind on your face
hands holding yours
cold splash of the creek
dirt smooshed between toes
sun between leaves

It's
the love
of love

Suffocation

The cold keeps snatching at my ankles,

My flip flops clicky-clack

on the vacant pavement

I fight to catch my breath that whips itself away from me

The tears fall

slowly- my vision is left somewhere behind me-

crawling down my cheek

onto my neck and heaving chest, still without air

Silently, with no rhythm to this pain

it washes oven me in waves, receding before it really hits

Silently; for no one must know

Trapped,

a glass dome encloses me

A poisonous gas condensing into an impenetrable fog

The sun behind these clouds. It wants to break through;

I said the fog was

Impenetrable.

Hope

crushed by the slam of Pandora's box.

Opequon

That's how I remember it. In flashes of all my senses. The smell of a burning flames and smoke that continues to cling to your clothes till morning. The purr of cicadas and roar of night. The feel of a hand, of everyone's hand as we stand in a slowly tightening circle, eyeing the steaming food. The sight of attentive eyes; of eyes that care; eyes that will catch your fall. Taste the love of five workers. You can't take just one bite; you eat in heaps. I can feel the presence of joy, radiating from peoples smiles as steady as the sun. There's a warmth at this place called camp. A warmth you can't get anywhere else, no matter how sunny the day is. It's walking onto a stage where everyone's the star and there are no judges. It's floating down the river, trusting the water to carry you in the right direction. It's looking down from the top of a mountain you just conquered. It's free falling into love. That's how I remember it.

Oh, the Horror

Poetry is terrifying

it will expose you

The rawness of you emotion

a slap in the face

Many say it's too

cryptic,

long and boring

Maybe you can't read it 

if you don't have enough soul to 

see into someone elses

I know

I know,

more poetry.

I'm not apologizing.

Boo

Creak. Bang. Boo.
Shadows take their time creeping from my closet
with doors I thought I closed
From the night that lie in a hungry wait outside
my fogged up window
The usually reassuring moon
slices through the clouds
and knocks on the glass
But it only makes the darkness dance and jump
now on the white walls of my room

The wind howls
another monster
requesting a visit
Knocking the trees
where ever it please

Sunk low under
soft, comfort
Seeking warmth in the cold fear
Is the darkness of covered eyes
less Frightening
than that
of shadows
and children of the night

Eyes squeezed shut
covered by layers of soft warmth
and happy thoughts
may keep the horror at
bay
For now