mmmmpoetry
So, since I'm wasting time the night before my last day of classes, I thought I'd post some poetry I've been working on this semester.
in a room, at night,
a girl touches
her forehead to the floor
in prayer, and rocks back
on her heels, black cloth
rounding the edges
of her face, emphasizing
the curve of her chin and
the arch of her nose.
her lips move silently
and her eyes look down.
beside her,
another girl sleeps.
her head is filled with
math problems and
vocabulary words,
her shape indistinct
under blankets.
Since you've last seen that one, I've edited the second stanza to make it more concrete. But the first stanza seemed very well received and so I didn't touch it.
I should have kissed
you in October,
back in the beginning,
in the dark
of the living room at night.
Not now.
Not after sitting
on your floor, talking
in our high worry-voices;
not after realizing
that if I cried
you would only
apologize more.
I realize that one's cliche beyond cliche, but really I just like the phrase "high worry-voices"
i always give pieces
of myself to people who don’t want them
to put in their back pockets
while i wrap my fingers
around the place
where the piece used to be.
Wrote that one last night/today. Too much repetition.
But then I am brought back to myself.
Back to the cramped rooms and desks
piled high with coffee cups and papers:
The little bits of life that collect and collect,
And then spill over onto the floor,
All jumbled together and torn.
(I find myself distracted by it.)
I just feel that describes my life exactly.
And that's all for today! Have at them then!
in a room, at night,
a girl touches
her forehead to the floor
in prayer, and rocks back
on her heels, black cloth
rounding the edges
of her face, emphasizing
the curve of her chin and
the arch of her nose.
her lips move silently
and her eyes look down.
beside her,
another girl sleeps.
her head is filled with
math problems and
vocabulary words,
her shape indistinct
under blankets.
Since you've last seen that one, I've edited the second stanza to make it more concrete. But the first stanza seemed very well received and so I didn't touch it.
I should have kissed
you in October,
back in the beginning,
in the dark
of the living room at night.
Not now.
Not after sitting
on your floor, talking
in our high worry-voices;
not after realizing
that if I cried
you would only
apologize more.
I realize that one's cliche beyond cliche, but really I just like the phrase "high worry-voices"
i always give pieces
of myself to people who don’t want them
to put in their back pockets
while i wrap my fingers
around the place
where the piece used to be.
Wrote that one last night/today. Too much repetition.
But then I am brought back to myself.
Back to the cramped rooms and desks
piled high with coffee cups and papers:
The little bits of life that collect and collect,
And then spill over onto the floor,
All jumbled together and torn.
(I find myself distracted by it.)
I just feel that describes my life exactly.
And that's all for today! Have at them then!