Could Be ( A Poem)

poetry
This could be amazing;
ride upon unicorns
over sparkling rainbows
while bards play magical melodies
and wild nymphs dance on trees
amazing.
Others may spring into light
out of sheer joy.
This could bring delightful dancing doggies
or curiously cute cats,
wonders upon wonders could be brought.

On the other hand
if you flip the tape,
reverse my hopes,
show my fears.

This could be terrible,
rotted death could ooze out its orifices
like black tar filled humiliation
and the sulfur smell of dying dreams
those that were crushed by failure,
which would cause a dank cave
to become a bare home for my soul
with only swollen sadness
to guide my lonely days.

There is a burning flame
a flickering fire inside
that holds to the unicorn
almost seeing the sparkling rainbow
and knows
even if dying dreams are crushed by failure
new one will arise
out of the dream pulp
or ashes of failure.
The phoenix that is my heart
will go on
will create.

Let Me Live (A Poem)

poetry
Let me live among the stars
Allow me to dance a jazz-square
on the moon.
If not teach me
how to trap my dreams in reality.

I will soar high
above my common life
living in the clouds of my desire
then like gravity
you pull be back
to where I sit.

Let me fly.
Let me soar.
Let me live,
even for a moment more.

Instead you pull me
chain me
and remind me of my fears.
Road blocks are made
while obstacles rise
like you forget what’s inside.

My heart will soar
I will fly.
You may be helpful
reminding me of reality
but my dear mind
you know my heart and my soul.
They will win.
I will live among the stars
and dance on the moon,
so please just step aside.

The Reason

poetry
Oh, there’s the reason.
There it lies,
on the floor of my mind.
It was hidden
behind ideas of romance
under longings of intimacy
neither the reason.
They only hide the truth.

This attachment to a stranger
with the idea of romance
longing for discovery of the deep
was caused by a dream of more,
just like reading my mind
told by another life,
this one also touched my soul.
He spoke my heart,
showed the world my hopes,
and told me I could be
the more of my dreams,
without even knowing my existence.

Second-Hand (A Poem)

poetry
My heart desires to write a love song
so deep, so true;
one that brings tears
or makes you say, “oh my dear.”

Desire fills me to write words
that could move mountains
or the hardest soul
so darling please urge yourself to weep.

As my romantic heart breaks
because the only love I’ve known
seems to have been a mistake.

It was far away,
long ago and healed with time.
I was not even the same heart.
The love I knew feels
like a faded dream,
a distant mystery;
one with less hope
nearly hidden
in the darkened valleys of the changed girl.

Yes, I loved once
but it was not deep, not true,
so how can I tell you of love?
What romance can I give,
except second-hand?

Let me know what you think of this poem. I really enjoyed writing it and it is exactly what I wanted to say. I am proud to call this one my own at this moment, so would love all the feedback that can be given. 

Makes Me Beautiful

ME 152

What makes me beautiful? What is pleasing to the senses?

You may answer my curves. I do have them and the contrasting peaks and valleys are pleasing to the eyes. Yet, I believe that the strength hidden within the curves of my body are more beautiful than the outward appearance. You see my body hides its toughness and endurance behind my hour-glass form.

Perhaps you believe that my eyes are what makes me beautiful as they sparkle with blue hues. I could agree with you as I do think that my eyes are beautiful. Still what makes them beautiful is the mind and heart that is behind them. It is the life and love that shines out of them.

My smile, lips and mouth are also physical features that could be pretty by themselves. They are brought into beauty by how they are used. My smile shows the happiness that lies within my soul. My lips and mouth are only beautiful because of the encouraging words and unique thoughts that come from within.

You see my mind, soul, and heart are what makes me beautiful in my eyes. My outward appearance in beautiful because it shines what is inside.

Now that I answered what makes me beautiful I ask you, “What makes you beautiful?”

A Romantic Monologue

writing

Let my mind be cleared of thoughts of you. Quiet my heart from day-dreams your appearance creates. For how do I make reality out of these girlish fantasies? You are further than a world away from me; living among the nobility of this age, while I toil with only my dreams as an escape.

Truly the dreams are but mere lies, that my heart tells my mind. Perfection such as yours can not honestly exist. You must wear a gentleman’s mask as a ploy for the ladies of your kingdom. Yes, the bright, warm person on display must be hiding a rotted center. I am sure that the loving smile and open heart is an act to create loyal subjects.

How would a charming prince such as the one portray be permitted to survive in this cold harsh land, where the noble are as wicked as the corrupt rulers, that allow the wealthy to step on the poor? Understanding how a heart can stay intact and opened while among the pressures of aristocracy is beyond me.

Perhaps, a day will come when fate will bid us a meeting and my aloof admiration will yield to knowledge of the inner workings of your beautiful mind; finally releasing my girlish fantasies into reality. Until that day comes I will assure myself that you have purely perfected your art and the public is simply seeing a seduction act.

Well, this actually isn’t how I thought this monologue would go. I was planning on starting Shakespearean and degrading into a fan-girl. That would have been fun to write.  Of course staying on the old / formal side of things was also fun. It gave me a little challenge, since I do not normal talk like this. It also might be fun to act, because unlike the artist, it will actually be acting. I mean this is for sure a different character.

In case you were wondering who this monologue is referring to; it’s Tom Hiddleston. He is dreaming and seems pretty cool.

A Pondering Poem

poetry
Can art go on art;
Laying on it like a lover?
One inspiring the other,
romantically entangled,
but no romance to handle?

Would the art be part of the other art;
like one piece of the whole is the heart?
It would supply life,
living as section,
being whole by being only a part.

This is just a fast little poem, but I hope you enjoy it. Let me know what you think.

Where I wear my Heart (A Poem)

poetry

I don’t wear my heart on my sleeve.
It is not on a piece of clothing that I wear.
My heart is easily concealed
and easily shown
on my claves
and on my chest,
painted with pain
each part properly placed.

Here is my family
always a part of me
like a vine of flowers
on which I stand,
first known and first inked.

Here is my claim
that I love God and he me,
the closest to my heart,
the hardest to make part,
shining what I believe
the easiest to see.
Love is at the center of the cross.

Next, let me show you
my smile.
The only one of my inked on hearts
that speaks clearly its words.
‘We’re all mad here,’
it smiles
reminding me, always,
that everyone is crazy
in their own special way,
so keep on smiling
because you are crazy too.

The last for now,
my truest of true heart
blossoms forth
beautifully claiming
each friend then and now
whether at my center
or closer to the start
has created my heart,
either with love or with hate
and will forever be part of me.

You see I do not stand alone.
I stand on my family,
supported by my friends
with God at my heart
and a smile always near by,
so I inked them with pain
as a reminder
and a claim
that no matter what happens
everyone
in my life and in my heart
in at least one way will never part.

Self (A Poem)

poetry

I lost myself
when I ignored myself,
not trusting my heart
not listening to my soul.
The gentle whispering
saying no was dismissed.
I turned away from myself
and hid myself,
so I lost myself.

Now I will find my heart
when I fly to the light
and can be bathing in support.
Will myself snap back in?
Will I come out of my hiding place,
when I am home
and my soul feels safe?
Will I then find my heart.

Here (A Poem)

poetry

Here are the chains
I clasp on to my wrists.
Here is the weight
I tie to my heart.
Here is the knife
I slowly stab into my soul.
Here is the prison
I hide myself in.

I cannot unchain myself
from the chains I claimed.
I cannot untie or cute the rope
that holds down the weight on my heart.
I cannot heal the hurt
from the knife in my soul.
I cannot unlock my prison
that I once locked myself in.

So, I give you my chains,
please undo their locks.
I give you the weight,
please cut their ropes.
I give you the knife
please heal my wounds.
And I give you my prison,
please turn it into a home.
Yes, I give you my everything,
please make me whole.

Can I? A Poem

poetry

Can I call you up,
before I take a step back?
Can I hear your voice,
hear you laugh?
Will I then be alright?
Will that then calm my heart
or could this just be the start?
All evidence is pointing
the wrong way.
Life and the world
is saying turn away
but my heart is saying no.
No to taking a step back,
no to giving up before it starts,
no to doing what is smart.
Yet, if I call you
I wouldn’t know what to say.
If I heard your voice
mine would run away
and I would be helpless
if your laugh was brought from far away.

Can I call you up,
before anything really starts?
Can I hear your voice,
some how see your face?
Can I tell you that
your mind seems so brilliant,
your strength seems so foreign
and your smile is so enticing?
Can I share with you
my thoughts and how I see you?
One of which is you as
my ideal which frightens me,
a strange tough work of art
that makes me want to inspect more,
but when I get to close
I must turn away,
because your eyes
they seem so knowing
so frightfully knowing
and prefect.

Can I call you up,
before I know what to say?
Can I hear your voice,
even if you are not on my list?
You are not the person,
that my created wish list created.
You only have the needed traits,
the non-negotiable and absolutely needed parts.
What about the goofiness,
and where is the sense of humor?
How can you seem so great,
but lack the lightness I seek?
How would you fit in my family,
when you are not even a little crazy?
You see you are too sane
to be my ideal.
You are too put together
to have me by your side.
No, see you don’t have the things
I have said I don’t need,
so you must not be the one for me.

Still can I call you up,
before I take a step back?
Can I hear your voice,
hear you laugh?
I want to even though,
all evidence is pointing
the wrong way.
I want to because you seem to be
my ideal which frightens me.

 

I wrote this on November 29, 2014 to help me with a crush. I saved it for a bit of time, so that it would not be so fresh when I published it. Since now I have started the process of getting over this crush I feel like I can now publish this work of art. 

I hope you enjoy.

Crush

writing

I do have a crush. It is a crush with the knowledge that the name of it is coming. Like an attack on my heart temporarily wounding my soul.

If there were real dating leagues he would be one higher than mine. If you write him on paper he would be the perfect of husband material. I could ignore the league and rip the paper. Yet, I cannot ignore the melting of my heart when he smiles.

I want to be safe in his arms, nuzzling close to his heart. I want to invite him into my world to see the serious turn silly, which I’ve seen glimpses of. I want to join his world and learn how strength feels.

I would invite him, let him know that my heart skips a beat when I see him; tell him that his smile melts my heart. I would tell him anything and everything, except my insecurities creep up. The voice I promised myself I would ignore shouts that he is on a pedestal to high for me to get. The voice of my insecurities and fear yells that I am not worth his love and I think him so grand that I believe it. I won’t let him decide how he feels. I will wait until I can’t take the waiting, worrying and fame of what ifs, become more than I can bear. One I am convinced one way or the other I will buckle down and confess in a way that does really give him a real choice. That is when my heart will be crushed and my feelings will bleed with salt water from my eyes.

Yes,  my heart will be crushed or maybe there is another way. Perhaps this time will be different. I don’t know how to flirt or read subtle signs, but I can be bold. I can ask for advice.  I can request help in understanding my real options. There is a way to be open in the middle of my fear.

I will try this time and if my heart is crushed than my friends can help me glue it back together. Yes, I will go into battle to fill my heart’s desire with a medical kit if it breaks.

If I see you (A Poem)

writing

If you read this
I hope you know who you are.
If you know who you are
I hope you believe this.
If you believe this
I hope you read this through.

I want to tell you
my mind can get filled
with images of you,
hopes of the future,
fears kept by the past,
and memories of a different life.

My mind tells me things
about you
about me.
It shouts that when I see you,
if I see you,
when we are face to face
I will shout at you
yell hateful things
let you know where you stand
where my heart is.
My mind tells me
I hate you
I am angry towards you
you never deserved me.
Rage builds up so easily
like a red hot fire
that burns my soul.

My mind tells me things,
but I am not just a mind.
My heart also speaks.
She whispers, no.
I will hug you
and tell you you are my friend.
I have forgiven you
and I have forgiven me.
The hurt is only a memory.
My rage does not burn,
not in my heart.
I will pick up the pieces
of the friendship once lost
and show you that I see
how good friends we can be.

You see I have my life
and you have yours.
I once told you friends we’ll be
and I promise you in my heart
friends we will always be.
No matter what happens
or what the time may bring.
I promised you friends we are
and I really believe
we will be friends
now and forever.

So, if we meet again,
please know,
you are my friend
even if you have long let me go.

Sale (creative rant)

writing

 

I am not for sale but you can by small pieces  of me. My body, heart, and soul are only mine. You can not buy or bid on them. Yet, I will bleed for you. I will bleed out all my creativity. I will happily give you all of my mind as long as I know where to find it at the end of the night.

Yes, I will give my all to give my art, but you will never buy my heart. I will bleed for you because my love will never end. Still no money and no treasure will be set to claim my very self. I will give you every piece of me and some times those pieces will be free. However, those pieces are the things I can spare, those bits are what needs to come out.

So thank you for collecting the things that I shed, but please know I am not for sale.

 

What do you artistic people think? Is that how you see selling your art? It was a random creative rant, so I don’t even know what I think.

Dream For You (A Poem)

poetry

I dream a dream that is just for you,
wishing that all my wishes will come true.
What do I wish
and what do I dream?

I dream of your face always smiling
I wish for your happiness everyday,
That you know love
and you know great joy.

I do dream that you dream about me.
I do wish that you find comfort near me,
but if you can’t find joy
and can’t find love
with me close by
than I simply wish you find
your heart’s desire
which in return will fill your heart.

Yes I dream a dream that is just for you
wishing that all my wishes will come true
and I wish for your happiness
while dreaming of your joy.

 

This was another poem taken for my top searches. The real search was, “My dream for you poem.” What do you think of it?

Play on (A Poem for musicians)

writing

Let the music play on,
sing your song out,
make the notes dance
out the throat
through your mouth.
Let your words paint music
with your instrument in hand.

You music is a beautiful painting,
so paint on the air.
You songs are a sweet aroma
to my mind,
or like a light shining into my soul.

So play on,
sing on,
and keep on creating.
Keep on sharing.
Let my life be filled
with the music within
your mind,
your heart
and your soul.
Play on
and let me hear
that sweet melody,
your beautiful rhythm
and that soul that shines from the deep.

Let the music play on,
You music is a beautiful painting,
So play on.

Who I Am (A Poem)

poetry

Ask me who I am
and I may tell you
I do not know.
Ask me what I am
and I will tell you
I am a puzzle not to be known.
Ask me how I am
and I will smile
saying that should already be known.

Who am I?
Today you ask me,
and I will answer
with this moment’s answer.
I am me.
I write my heart,
not knowing all of it.
I speak my mind
still hoping to grow it.
I share my soul
praying that you won’t break it.

I may not know everything
not even about who I am,
but I know
I am stronger than I have been tested,
smarter than I seem,
and more loving than I let on to be.
My heart is deeper than any ocean,
and how deep it goes scares me at times,
because the deeper the chasm
the easier to fall,
the easier to be broken,
so my heart may be deep,
but I do not venture
as deep as it goes.

Who am I?
I do not know,
an artist at heart,
but with an organizer part.
I am a nerd to start,
who loves all things about art.

I do not know fully who I am,
because I have not fully lived.
My life is not over,
so I will still be changing,
still be growing,
and I will still be learning.

Who am I?
I can only answer
quite simply,
I am me.

 

A Poem about Zucchini Bread

poetry

If your eyes are the windows to your soul
than let me look upon a warm loaf.
If poetry is the doorway
than surely there should be a poem
written to the food that warms it.

I heard a poem spoken
about peach cobbler
and how to make it.
I have heard a poem
about the houses lived in.
But there is no poem
about Zucchini bread
so I will write it.

Where to start
we go so far back.
This almost miracle
delicious in my mouth
reminding me of childhood
reminding me of family
and reminding me of love.

We share the time it takes
and we share the bread we make.
Some families have old traditions
spanning generations
going back as far as their own family’s creation.
My family has Zucchini bread,
the wonderfully green mixture before it’s baked,
the sweet smell that tells you it’s ready,
and the thick, warm taste when it’s cooled just enough.

It is always a happy time when this bread is cooking
the smell alone is enough to put a smile on your face
and love deep in your heart.
The smiles that dance on the faces in the kitchen
and the laughter that steams from creating this masterpiece.
Yes, other families have their traditions
and their memories;
we have our own
and I know I would rather taste ours
than yours.

So, here is to the flour on the floor,
the green goop on the counters
and the love in the bellies.
Here is to the freezers filled
the gifts created from joy
and the memories made.
Here is to the Zucchini bread
that I love to make
and love to eat.

 I feel like this is a bunch of different poems wrapped into one, but I think it works. Zucchini bread is my favorite food, so it should have more than one poem written. Let’s just say this is multiple poems written to blend together or something like that.

What to do? (A Poem after a mishap)

poetry
What do I do?
sit in anger
in grief
waiting and watching
the ball of angry twine tighten?

What do I do?
Scream and shout
about the beauty that was lost
wallowing in my heart
about how it was unfair?

What do I do?
Watch my soul grow dark
and my heart breaks

What do I do?
I write
pushing off the anger
wiping clean the screams
that want to creep out.
I turn the light of my soul
to shine bright
and move on.

What do I do?
I continue on
I laugh at the poem that comes out
and smile
I get to write even more.

What do I do?
I win the battle
that rages inside of me

 I first wrote a lovely little poem about aging and being loved. It was sweet and happy with the repeating line smile and play. Well that obviously did not want to be published and wound up being deleted some how. That is where this came from.

I hope you enjoyed this and have a wonderful day remembering you don’t have to be angry when your work winds up being for nothing. 

Always smile and know you are loved.

The Me I Want To Be (a poem)

poetry

 I have put off writing this poem. I haven’t really wanted to truly face my ideas of loosing weight and why I want to get healthier. I also feel like I don’t have to share my reasons behind wanting to lose weight. Yet, this poem keeps bugging me, so I will write it if only to get it out of my head,

I hope you enjoy this poem.

Dear media,
Dear society,
I see the type of woman you ask for
I see your demands.
Media please know
I do not believe in your ideals
Dear society
I do not want your either.
I simply want to be me.

Yet the me in the mirror
does not match the me in my soul.
I do not know the woman
staring back at me.
I do not know the body
that I am in.
I am too young
for these ache.
My heart has more energy
than my body can take.
I yearn to do more
and be more
but how can I
when there is still more
more inches around my body
more acne on my face
and more aches in my knees.

I see you media
I see you society
and I almost want to embrace
this more type of me,
but I can’t.
I don’t want to me in your mold
but I want to me in mine.
I wish you did not demand perfection
so that every one will know.
I simply want to be the me
that I know.
I simply want to be the me
that is the same age as my soul.
I simply want to be me.

So I will.
I will turn my life back around.
I will fight these aches off
while the inches run away
and the pounds disappear.
I will fight my unhealthy cravings,
struggle to do what is right
and smile while I sweat.
I will fight until I am exactly who I want to be.
I will fight until I am
the me I want to be.

Dear media,
Dear society,
my health, my body
has nothing to do with you.
My health, my body
is mine and I will fight for it
despite of you.
I will fight until I am
the me I want to be.