it’s not over
until it is
so I refuse
to scream or mope
I won’t lose faith
I’ll hold my head
up high and I
will not lose hope
Category: Poems
Here you can find a variety of poems that I wrote myself. I hope my poetry inspires you to write your own!
Fingers curled around icy cold chains
wind whipping across your face
screams echoing,
echoing,
echoing.
Fingers slowly release
r e a c h i n g outward—
now it’s the wind that’s screaming
until a voice asks
what if the chains break and then it’s not wind it’s just
you falling
falling
falling?
Your fingers tighten.
Prompt: Read “In a Station of a Metro” by Ezra Pound, then write a 2-line poem using the word from Pound’s poem that intrigues you the most.
The apparition hovers silently behind her
Perpetually picking her apart
I went to the doctor one day
And the nurse looked at me strangely
“You have really good eyesight,”
She said
And I know now that I do
I can look into my future,
So near,
So bright,
Beckoning and beautiful
But I can also see my past
Full of adventure and joy
Growth and knowledge
Kindness and love
Love has molded me
Into the passionate young woman
I am today
Love has defined my childhood
And it will define my adulthood
(Which, technically,
Started yesterday)
Finally,
I can see the present,
And, despite its challenges,
Find the good
So yes,
My head is stuffed with dreams
My heart is full of gratitude
And my vision is crystal clear
Categories
Don’t Forget
Don’t forget
how much we love you
even when our words seem cruel.
Don’t forget
how much we like you
even when we act too cool.
Don’t forget
how much you mean to us
even when you feel alone.
Don’t forget
no matter where we go
your arms will always be home.
Don’t forget
that time
space
anger
fear
NOTHING could break this bond. This promise. This love.
How could you have known you played your last game?
How could you have seen that was your last dance?
How could you have guessed nothing stays the same?
How could you have recognized your last chance?
How could you have said goodbye so cruelly?
How could you have forgotten that last word?
How could you have looked at them so cooly?
How could you have predicted or inferred?
How could that sweet goodnight kiss be your last?
How could that have been your last hot shower?
How could that go from bad to worse that fast?
How could that life change in just an hour?
How could you have known everything you’d miss?
How could you have foreseen apocalypse?
The answer seems so simple when addressed;
nobody could have ever known or guessed.
Poet’s Note:
I took the trash out tonight before bed. That’s when I realized I hadn’t been outside in five days. Obviously, I’ve been distracted and could’ve gone out for a walk or jog if I wanted to; nevertheless, the realization inspired me to write about the spiraling thoughts we’re all probably having. Stay safe and take care of yourselves, everyone. See you on the other side.
Suburbia has trees that stretch
up toward the cotton candy sky;
where bad parents play games of catch
with kids who do nothing but lie.
This place seems beautiful at first,
but soon our sinful souls will burst
Up toward the cotton candy sky
the sinners raise their shaky hands.
Broken-winged birds who long to fly
squashed by malicious marching bands.
But a football field of dead birds
beats a church full of empty words.
Where bad parents play games of catch
to mask their misgivings with fun.
A batch of cookies made from scratch
poisoned with “Don’t tell anyone.”
Wind chimes whisper, kids never learn,
and rows of picket fences burn.
With kids who do nothing but lie
each suburban parent is blessed.
And yet, when a shooter arrives
the kids still send a goodbye text.
When bad blood stains the classroom floor
suburban kids can lie no more.
This place seems beautiful at first
as colorful leaves fall like dreams.
But some residents dive headfirst
into behind the curtain schemes.
Suicidal squirrels stain streets red
and girls who say “No” wind up dead.
But soon our sinful souls will burst,
sick from the perpetual pain.
Our loss and lies can’t be reversed;
let picket fences’ ashes rain.
Broken-winged birds, follow the map
out of suburbia’s cruel trap.
Categories
Strangers: Pt. 4
The future is coming.
It’s scary
and exciting
and exhilarating
and exhausting
and terrifying
and strange.
The future is a stranger.
College will be full of strangers
who will soon become friends
and maybe even family.
Law school will be full of strangers
who will be both competition
and shoulders to cry on.
Adulthood will be full of strangers
who will be terrifying
and intoxicating all at once.
Where are all the strangers?
Where are we?
Where am I?
Where are my friends?
Where are all the strangers,
you ask?
Don’t look now,
but there’s one over there,
waiting for you
in the mirror.
Categories
Strangers: Pt. 3
Sometimes
I feel like a stranger,
like an alien,
in my own body.
I think, “I don’t belong here,”
in this skin
in this brain
in this life.
The tears pour
when they shouldn’t
and won’t surface
when they should.
The mind reels
when I’m tired
and won’t work right
when I’m tested.
The breaths come easy
when I don’t think
and become impossible
when I do.
This body
this mind
these tears
these hands
this voice
this name
this face
these words
these thoughts
this person
This person is a stranger.
She is surrounded by strangers.
She wants to find new strangers
to surround herself with
so she can forget
that she doesn’t belong.
Categories
Strangers: Pt. 2
People change
as drastically
as the wind
changes directions.
People change.
They make bad choices
and bad friends
and bad more-than-friends.
They act like we’re invisible.
They act like the past
is nothing but a foolish story
meant to be discarded.
They realize they’re too cool
and too wild
to be chained down
by “the boring ones.”
They think it’s better
to build walls
and destroy friendships
and destroy the past.
It’s better
than destroying
their pride
or reputations.
It’s better to destroy us,
the ones who care most,
than to destroy
themselves.
But I can destroy myself
without hurting
everyone
around me.
In fact,
I can destroy myself
without anyone
even noticing.