Category : poetry

7 to Midnight

all the stars in all the skies
will never understand the reasons why
i got so lost over you
underneath by gravestone blues
an epitaph that told you so
my compass points that look as though
i caught my death in the cold
i got so lost over you

you & your stars

Sing the Blues

What does it mean to be blue in the world?

What is the sound of blue? Blue like a donut, empty in the middle. Blue like a sticky note, scribbled with words long forgotten in context. Blue like an old sweater, cozy and warm. Blue like a calendar, lines of blank days waiting to be filled in. Blue reflected in my eyes, a quick glance and then looking away for fear of seeing all my worst demons glaring through the mirror.

When my heart turns blue and the sound of the clock ticking is like a hatchet hitting a tree trunk, chop chop chop, I wrap my arms around myself, I close my eyes, I swallow my tears. When my heart turns blue, turns from ruby to sapphire, pulsing with a light both cold and hopeful, I turn the lights down, I turn the sound of the ocean up, I look out at the moon and whisper its name. When my heart turns blue and night turns to morning, the stars still singing in the sky, the sun still sleeping, I dance around my head, all the space I could wish for, and think of writing oceanic words.

How blue does blue get? Blue as a kiss, blue as a dream, blue as a spark on the tip of a matchstick. How far down does blue go? Blue as old fruit fallen from an ancient tree, deep deep down in the underworld, on the shores of a blue blue ocean beneath a sky of cerulean stone. How far does blue go? Touching and tasting the ends of the cosmos, far far far from our little blue dot, one tiny sphere of stone and sea. How grand does blue get? Even when the chill, skeletal hands of loneliness bewitch my shivering skin, there is a blue light held in my hands and under my tongue and between my ears, waiting for a burst of sighs to set it free.

In a sparse white room, stuffed full of silence, there is blue singing songs of mad, grinning dreams and laughter that echoes across threadbare carpet. There are blue notes tacked to the pale walls with sigils to drive away dusty ghosts. There is my heart, turned from red to blue, jewelled forever, prismatic and brilliant, deep deep down in the cavern of my chest.

Compass Rose

how long can i feel like this?
cracked & crushed under the weight of stars
i wish i could speak with my blood
i wish my world turned in that direction
but for now
i keep whispering to shadows
hiding my heart in my skull

i will gladly accept all the sugar life offers me
fighting off the lonely void with a song
i will bear the weight of starlight
wishing i could play the fool
but for now
i keep whispering to shadows
hiding my heart in my skull
dreaming of a time
when the world might change its direction

Let Her Breathe

i’ve been through this all before, i swear
i remember all the heartbeats
i remember all the hours
i remember all the roots & flowers & thorns

life can simply be so hard
when your heart is a sand castle
& your love has come high tide
& my head is on fire
for you

i have named every star & then
i have named them all again
i remember all the colors
i remember the dark
i remember all the times i felt broken
but i can’t remember how i got taped up

Nothing New or Noteworthy

For quite a while this blog has mostly been poems. Poetry has been the easiest, most natural way I’ve been expressing myself. Until a few months ago when I stopped writing it altogether. Not forever and ever, just…I haven’t felt the necessity to write poems. I just realized there are two reasons why.

One, all writing is practice, and I was practicing poetry BUT I didn’t feel like I was getting BETTER (whatever “better” is) at it. I’ve been doing the same thing over and over without trying anything new or different, without pushing myself, without moving from the spot I was in.

Related to that, I just haven’t had anything to say with poetry. Nothing new, at least. Just saying the same things over and over. That’s as boring for me as it is for anyone reading what I write. Probably even more boring for me.

I’ll probably have something new to say and something new to try with poetry at some point. Until then, I’ll let my mind wander, take stuff in, let it all dance around in my head, and wait for something to say.