Monthly Archives: July 2011

The Only One You Thought to Save


A glance over the edge,
Shards of shattered below her
And bodies above her,
And all around her.
Her feet lose balance,
Her arms stretch
A bird without wings to the eye
A desire to catch up with the sky
But she falls.

Saved by the noose you tied
Around her pale white throat.
She lives.
She struggles and fights the bindings
And thrashes until she slows
And falls
And is gone
But never forgets.

I trek through a forest
Of hanging girls on your ropes
Blood staining white shirts
Above their hearts
And my hand covers my own
With fingers that just grace
The blood from mine.

Heartbroken too
But the only one you thought
To save.

A bit depressing, I realize, but it’s not as bad as it seems. It doesn’t have anything to do with a murderer pushing girls out of trees so that they can hang. It’s a metaphor describing the relationship between a boy who is caught in a web of girls who would do anything for his love, and the only girl he has any eyes for. The narrator has vowed for years that she would never falter, that she would never fall in love with him. However, some promises are impossible to keep, and she falls for him despite herself. Luckily for her, he loves her as well.

And before you ask, yes, I do relate to the narrator. Write what you know, the say.

This is mostly just an experiment with a poem without rhyme, to see how well I like it. What do you think?

And to the boy whom this poem is about: please stop blaming yourself. You’ve hurt yourself enough as it is. I love you with everything I am, and you don’t deserve to hate yourself.

Between the Lines


Dearest Love of my Life,

I had wanted only the chance to tell you
(all of the things that I can never say)
you’ve given me everything I could ever ask.

(and I beg no one ever steal that away)

I had asked God in prayers to save me,
(while I was left in pieces on the floor)
He sent you to me instead.

(and I never could have asked for more)

I have loved with love that never should have mattered,
(the boy who yet suffered me in silence)
it evaporated when you walked in my life.

(and I was struck with bitter ambivalence)

I began to think that maybe I was worth something,
(you taught me that I still had a smile)
you taught me how to love myself without a toll or price.

(you taught me to live life with soul worthwhile)

I built up the hope that I might have you forever
(though I’m still petrified that you might walk away)
and I still yearn for a happily ever after.

(yet I doubt highly that I’ll ever see that day)

I would give up my life and soul and everything else
(my heart, my love, is already only yours)
to remain enveloped safely in your arms, for eternity.

(but I’m scared that future is a little more obscure)

You whisper in my ear that you love me
(and I relish every time you say my name)
and yet I know that you would shout it to the world.

(though I’d rather like that small secret to remain)

I wish there was some way that I could show you
(because you are blind when the subject is your heart)

all the things that you’ve always done for me.

(all the things that somehow set you apart)

Remember that kiss upon my forehead?
(the one you place moments before you made your leave)
You promised that you would always protect me.

(but you’ve no idea how your leaving destroyed me)

And when you returned, you made sure all my dreams came true
(despite the girl that you were supposed to love instead)
and do so still to this very day.

(and finally you kept true the words that you said)

So this is a letter written to thank you
(though your eyes may never see the words I write)
for everything that you’ve done to save me.

(to tell the truth, you saved my life)

I cannot express in words how strongly I must love you
(with all my heart, and with everything I have)
nor could anybody else woth all the words in the world.

(is that really so bad?)

I suppose I must hope that you will discover it on your own
(though I am certain beyond words you never will)
and dream of the day that your vision clears.

(and untill then, I shall love you ever still)

And with that I leave you with a kiss that you can’t feel
(and a useless page of beyond useless words)
because I am so many miles away.

(it feels like farther than the distance of the world)

Love Forever-Always,
~The Tulip Girl

Everything of any importance is written between the lines and in the wonderful language of subtlety. That’s pretty much all this poem is. Anything in italics is something the author didn’t feel she could saw aloud. They are the words hidden between the words she feels comfortable saying instead. It’s when you find someone who can read between your lines that you know you’ve finally found someone who truly knows you. In a lifetime, you will have many friends. Several best friends. A select few true friends. And one true love–a soulmate, who can read between the lines.

The Flames of Passion


With a flicker that cast shadows sorrowfully dancing,
and a mourning that cast light in empty rooms
among the shards of silvered mirror shattered upon the floor
I tread with feet that knew no bounds and bled new wounds.
I glanced down to watch the stones below me laughing,
as if they knew a secret I might never see.
A breeze whistled through windows there,
and I watched as the walls began closing in on me.

The candle burst and crackled, flame climbing to the sky,
fear ran deep beneath the fires, burning softly with a sigh.
And struggles to live without a cause, and struggles to survive.
Until it falls to unforgiving stone, and slowly, it’s snuffed and dies.
And catches before completely gone, in timbers carelessly placed,
by the last nobody that may have lived here, whom I can no longer trace.
And burns much brighter than the sun, though misplaced it may be,
a trance of passion in fluorescent flames, somehow it captures me.

And I think of you, I think of this,
I remember who I was.
I remember how you’ve changed me so,
and stolen my once sole cause.
How the fires of my old flame
burned low, then down to none,
and when you walked into my life,
sadly, they were gone.

I love you darling, with all my heart. And I know I always will,
but you’ve stolen who I used to be, and molded me with your spell.
I shall never speak of my passion lost, or my reach to re-attain
all of the things that once defined me, but appear now less than inane.
I fear I may never burn as brightly as the fire that I once was,
but as a child, I may find more than what once was only cause.

Passion once, and passion lost,
and candles that burned out.
And hopeless thought to rekindle them
as it is useless now.
I’m not that girl, might never be,
can’t attain all that I used to.
But I’ll let that passion burn and die,
if it means I can still love you.

Pretty self-explanatory, but this is about sacrifice. Giving up what you love most for the person you love. While I do believe sacrifice is important, I also believe whole-heartedly that you should never give yourself up for someone else, no matter how much you love that person. That’s not what this is saying. It’s more, letting go of the thing that defines you so that you can define yourself. And in the process, shifting the passion you had for what you loved to the person you love.

Phoenix’s Barricade


She shimmers in the sunbeams, feathers glistening like burning coal
Her eyes trace shards of broken scene, behind bars that leave her cold.

Meadows bloom of other realities, that she may never call her own.
Phoenix dreams of long lost freedom, to the lands she used to know.

She perches there in silence, passing days without her song
Resenting what she once dreamed true, convinced that she was wrong.

She shall never sing again, she fears, though she would never say.
If asked, she’d simply nod her head, pause, and turn away.

But in nightmares, she is falling. Her wings are broken glass.
And soft-spoken breeze that tosses her sends her spiraled to the grass.

She opens her eyes, breath heaving. A thunder in her heart.
The moon is brilliant tonight, but no mend does that impart.

Her eyes stray to her crimson wings, of little use to her now
For in chains and rings and behind iron bars, to her hell, forever bound.

Her feathers begin to wither, her light begins to fade.
The flame that lay beneath her skin, is smothered behind black shade.

A veil is cast over her eyes, she can no longer breathe.
She feels herself begin to shatter, a million pieces, she believes.

A wisp of breeze, a sorrowful moan, and Phoenix finds herself gone.
And wishes that the world might care, though it leaves her with a yawn.

And when her eyes awake again, she finds herself in ash.
Buried under dark black sand, and smoldering flames of her past.

Her feathers glitter with a thousand rubies, crushed and caught to her wings.
Her eyes see more than she ever has, amber with emerald green.

She stands and approaches her bars with care, slipping out of her chains.
She is small enough now, she sees, to escape, perhaps unscathed.

She slips past her bars, takes to the sky, and flies away in silence.
With a click of her beak and the raise of her wings, she smirks in pure defiance.

Clouds of sky beneath her, sunrise just ahead.
Chariots of silver stars race home, and leave streaks of cherry in their stead.

She is headed there too, she knows. Where heart meets sullen home.
But not so sullen anymore, because Phoenix has been reborn.

This was originally inspired by my desire to be freed of my house arrest. No, I haven’t done anything bad, I’m only stuck in the house because I have to be for six weeks after my kidney transplant. Only three weeks left (yay). Anyway, it began as my desire to go outside and slowly shifted to my recent writer’s block and my inexplicably awful writing that as of late just seems to be getting worse… And it also portrays the hope that someday soon I will be free of both of those cages.

Upon my Bedside Table


Every once in awhile I am struck with inspiration. Most often, this inspiration coincides with an overdose of music by one of my personal favorite poets of all time: Adam Young of Owl City (and formerly, Sky Sailing). I’ll wake up in the middle of night with words running through my mind and when I wake again in the morning, the words will be written on a piece of paper on my bedside table. This morning it was a single stanza that could really be a continuation of the first poem I posted to this site.

You are the sun in unknown skies, the light to distant lands.
You are the tilted moon and the glittering stars, and still you don’t understand.
You are the reason for my breath, the comprehension to my mind,
And among a sea of diamonds, you’re the only one that shines.

~For Anthony

As it has been a couple days since my last post, I decided to go ahead and post this. I apologize for not keeping up with my posts, I’ve just been horribly busy with hospital visits and spending time with Anthony. I just haven’t had the time. I will try my best to try to be better about that.

On another note, I would like to mention the moral of this short little poem: you are beautiful. Yes, you. The reader. Someone out there, whether you know it or not, loves you. Someone out there thinks you’re beautiful. And they always will. I didn’t believe it once. But it’s true.

Always Remember


The sun setting behind the trees that whispered,
dances of pink and cherry reds across the sky,
forbidden talks and moments shared and lost by us,
and the silvers of rain etched into your eyes.

Warm embraces that should have never broken,
and that second that I had to break away
because we knew that now, and forever, this was sinful
even if the words came more impossible to say.

The first time that you told me that you loved me
and the stop that kept me wondering the truth,
your next love on a list of many,
and my second, for I was still lost in my youth.

And the kiss that we were never meant to share,
in a moment that should have never come to be,
in the spark that exploded in my chest,
and the moment that you decided against me.

Always remember we began as sin and promise
to a love that shouldn’t have blossomed as it did.
Beneath a sky that wept its tears of Heaven’s sorrow
upon the two who started out as kids.

We’ve all made mistakes. The purpose of this was mostly to showcase that even mistakes can lead to something beautiful. Never regret the past. If you are happy, you can never ask to go back and change anything. I’m not saying that I’m that girl who think she’s all high and mighty because she wouldn’t go back and change anything–anyone who says that is LYING. But the truth is, I wouldn’t want to change anything big in my life because I’m happy now. And I can’t ask for any more than that.

Sure, I’d love to live without regrets. But that’ll never happen. You just have to roll with what you have, and make the best of things. That’s what being an optimist is about. Forgiving yourself and others their mistakes, and never falling to regret, but always remembering.

When the Moon Shines Again


When the stars reached down in pieces left of ocean,
when the moon thought, “maybe I won’t shine this night.”

When the sun touched fires pandering the solemn,
to a graveyard lost in angel-blessing’s eyes.

When the spoken word left nothing in a memory,
and the swollen skies left tears for the unknown.

When the holy clouds opened up but shed no sorrow,
and the seeds of generations were never sewn.

Perhaps the God that you had dreamt of felt no pity,
for a beggar on his knees who prayed with scorn.

To the shadows of a world you left in tatters,
protected you from every other single storm.

And yet the stolen respiration you’d been searching,
spent no remorse when you asked yet again for more.

And the ravens that you called the end of your enchantment,
pecked and pleaded, “won’t you please open your door.”

When you refused all the light you had been given,
and told yourself that you would still be less than lost.

When you realized that nothing else could save your soul, dear,
when was it that you took in what it had cost?

And my God, I swear, He might see fit to forgive you,
for all the charity that you have paid yourself.

But I find myself less likely to release your blame,
because I only asked your smile and nothing less.

When you destroyed all the things I felt near and dear to,
and then you mentioned that it hadn’t been your fault.

I spent my nights wondering how to hurt you,
and all my days suffocating my resolve.

When the sky fell and the earth you burned before you,
was nothing more than ashes, burning to the ground.

Did you ever wonder if you might have an addiction,
to the poisons you set every time you turned around?

I might ask that maybe when I pass you on the corner,
that you avert your eyes and stare down at your feet.

But you don’t deserve the recognition that might grant you,
nor the pleasure of knowing that you destroyed me.

So when you rise to the Gates and Peter passes judgment,
and when God gives you your list of all your sin.

You might understand the gravity of your situation,
and all of the people that you hurt when you win.

And when the moon begins to shine for no other reason,
and the sun lets go of messages unknown.

And there is suddenly a beam of Heaven in the clouds again,
I’ll know, in my heart, that’s when you will be gone.

This began as basically a letter to no one in particular, but as I continued writing, I began thinking of everyone who had hurt me. It became about them and all of the pent-up anger I had never told any of them about (being somewhat of a passifist…). Then it transformed again from the people I hate to people who hate in general.

It evolved into a poem about intolerance, and the idea that no one who hates will ever do any good in this world. It became about the Holocaust and about human rights. It became about freedom and love, and spreading the love around. The message switched from hating your enemies to loving everyone just as they are. Talk about an oxymoron.

But it’s the truth. The world would be a better place if no one spread the poison of hate around. If people just allowed others to live their lives, and peace became the norm. But hey, I’m an optimist.

I guess I’m supposed to think that way.

Unearthly Worlds


I sometimes forget
who I’ve become,
who I pretended I might be.
I sometimes wonder,
in my stead
if someone else might believe
that there is something more
out there,
a world untraveled,
a spell unbound.
I sometimes think that I am alone,
in loving my small town.

Behind moons of other worldly travelers,
none that may stay here,
and mists of morning,
and dawns in pastures,
solidity for years and years.

In lakes with unearthly monsters
that haunt unbidden knights,
in stars as pieces of other heavens
and scorched earth from deadly fights.
And swords that clang
and clash in steel,
and battles never won,
and stories that feed
on my fright and wonder
that cannot be undone.

And maidens in perfect dresses,
with hair in golden curls,
and courtrooms of
unquestioned justice,
with jurors’ cutting words.
And verdicts that shed blood
and tears of ages,
that spawn a vengeful strife,
and all the other things I see,
horrifying to others’ eyes.

And I think that in
my entranced state,
I might see more than there is.
Pretend I am in lands forgotten
that thrill me more
than this.

I think sometimes
I blunder,
and search out golds that do not exist.
I think, I might
have fallen in love
with a figment of my imagination.

I think, looking over this, I’ve been reading and fantasizing too much about the books and new HBO series Game of Thrones. As a child, I always loved stories of knights and fighting and swordplay. In fact, up until about age seven, I was convinced I was going to become a knight. Years, I spent fantasizing about what my life would become. I would lie awake in bed for hours, dreaming about it. And then I would fall asleep and dream that way as well.

This is basically just a vocalization of all of my dreams streamed together in one. I will go ahead and take this time, however, to HIGHLY recommend both the book series and show Game of Thrones. If you are a Lord of the Rings fan, or just love midieval times, both are absolutely amazing!

Whispers of Him


He is a cast of grey beneath my skin,
maroon hollows beneath my eyes.
A forgotten wind to an indifferent ocean
that rocks my ship to sleep each night.

And on high moons, he is my alleviation,
potency unrivaled.
A lion mirrored in any tarn
with the innocence of a child.

Beneath watchful eyes, he wanders
boundless to a task.
To crowds of others, he bears no soul,
and no self behind his mask.

And to me, he is no other.
But only in forbidden lands.
He doesn’t see who he is to me,
and he doesn’t understand.

~To Anthony

Simple, but probably the most honest poem I’ve ever written. For whatever reason, I have been haunted with insomnia the past couple of nights. So this is me awake at 3:30 in the morning, writing down whatever pops into my head and typing it into a box on my computer. So if this isn’t exactly as coherent as I would like it to be, I apologize. Looking over it, it seems to make sense enough to me, but I’m in that dreamy sort of “tired but can’t sleep” phase, so I could be wrong.

Anyway, it’s meant to portray the picture of a young man who hasn’t quite figured out who he is just yet. To me, he is a saint, one of the most important people in my life, but he sees himself as just another ordinary guy.