National Poetry Writing Month: Week Four

And so it draws to a close.

It has been years since I wrote consistently every day. When I was young, I wrote every day because I loved it, but as I grew up, quality seemed to be more important to me than fueling my passion regularly. I became a victim to the belief that you must “wait for your muse to come”.

I might as well have waited for my Prince Charming/Knight in Shining Armour to show up while I was at it.

I’d say for sure that this month taught me that it isn’t about always churning out good stuff, because the reality is, you will make crappy poetry. No matter what. But it’s better to exercise that writing muscle and then look to find the great lines. The fabulous lines. Find the lines that really strike out. And then those lines, you can use elsewhere. Or not at all. It’s all up to you.

In any event, I will definitely try to write everyday now, whether it’s a poem, to-do list, story, or otherwise.

Without further ado, here are the poems for Week Four:

 

04/23/2017

A new horizon, I look beyond the veil.

04/24/2017

I will finally a part of this new world,

and then suddenly,

it’s like slipping on glass

& swallowing razor blades.

04/25/2017

Into the darkness.

I am swallowed down.

Cool at the surface.

Hollow within.

04/26/2017

Dancing around you,

tip-toe-ing over daisies.

We stand so close

I can barely breathe.

Am I a part of you?

Can I let you in?

04/27/2017

….Coca Cola like it was nothing…

04/28/2017

…doubt,

like black ink,

spreads through my veins,

consuming me whole….

04/29/2017

Lace,

and an old pair of dirty boots

Dirty in the air,

crystals in my lungs.

04/30/2017

I miss the smell of you

in my lungs…

 

Stay safe and insane, my dears ❤

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National Poetry Writing Month: Week Two

I wish I could start this whole thing off on a light note. But unfortunately, my cat, my little girl, Rosey Posey Prather, died this morning. It was quite sudden.

She lived a good long life. She would have been 17 this coming August.

She was my birthday present in the first grade. When I opened this big box, I found that it was filled with cat toys and food dishes. I was so thrilled. My birthday is during the week of Christmas, so we waited until the first week of January to go to our local humane society to pick a cat out. January 7th, to be exact. I knew I wanted a black cat and it had to be a girl. I walked in and looked around at all the cats – and there she was.

A little tuxedo cat, about 6 months old. She was the only girl in the whole room, and her sister had been adopted the day before. She reached out to me, and my life was never the same. We were two peas in a pod. It might sound silly to some people, but she was my first best friend (after my mom, of course).

She is….was my whole world. I gave her all the love I could give her and more. She was my everything. Gods, I miss her so much already.

In honor of her,I thought I would share the entire poem I wrote about her on the first day of this month.

I know I am home

when I hear your sudden scramble

to the door & tight “meow” as

I enter.

I feel safe

when I hear your stretching moan

underneath the bed at 2am.

I find it cute

when you look at me

begging for treats,

even though I just gave you 6.

It makes me laugh

when you get so picky about

your water.

“The fresher the better”.

But my favorite thing about you

is how intuitive you are,

especially after a long day –

you gracefully next to me,

a wave of purrs rush over me,

How your fur can be shiny & silky

still amazes,

my little Tuxedo cat.

Your sweetness reminds

me that I am not alone,

as you look @ me,

only me,

as if I am the world.

16 years have passed since

our fated meeting.

I know our love is

a ticking clock.

But my hope is that our love

will surpass us,

the world,

the galaxy,

and maybe even the cosmos.

Love you always,

my precious Rosey. ❤

 

 

Here’s the snippets from Week Two of National Poetry Month –

 

04/09/2017

Lips stained insolence,

Spilling out ignorance.

I try to wash you away.

But I guess ordinary water will not do.

04/10/2017

Imaginary conversations sipped at 2am,

wondering when our eyes will shut

…..

Let us remain in conversations until the lights go up.

04/11/2017

It’s almost as though we are fire.

04/12/2017

….I shouldn’t be wishing my skin would dissolve in the pit of my own stomach acid.

04/13/2017

…Jumpin’ out of this sweatsuit,

into a space suit,

as I shoot off acute.

04/14/2017

Are we brunch on a Tuesday at noon? Are we picnics placed delicately by a clear blue lake?

04/15/2017

Heart over mouth.

Eyes go blind,

thinking of all of the stars

in your galaxies…

 

Give your loved ones a hug today. Value them. Love them. Stay safe and stay insane.

Thank you for all of the wonderful years we shared, Rosey.

Love you always.

National Poetry Writing Month: Week One

When I first started writing poetry, way back in middle school, I would write every single day. In fact, I made a goal – write 5 poems every single day. I would just sit during my lunch period, or study hall if I had done all of my homework, and just write poetry. I believe I originally started doing that because I really loved writing poetry and wanted to improve my work. But then, the 8th grade hit and I grew a huge crush on this boy who rode my bus. And every day, on the bus ride home, I would show him my poems, hoping that they’d make him fall for me.

Spoiler alert: Didn’t work. At all. Actually, it freaked him out. Damn Rom Coms lied to us all of these years! Although it probably didn’t help that I also kept randomly calling his phone just to listen to his voicemail. (I was 13, okay?! I know now that that’s insane and I am so embarrassed. Sorry, dude.)

Nowadays, I usually just write a poem down in my journal as it comes into my mind. Could be every couple days, or every couple weeks. But this month, in honor of National Poetry Writing Month, I decided that I am going to write at least one poem every single day. And thus far, I have been succeeding. So here’s my favorite snippets/quotes from every day of week one.

 

04/01

I know I am home when I hear your sudden scramble to the door and tight greeting as I enter….

04/02

Khaki Pants. Matching hat. Long Face. 65+ easy.

What a non-threatening description for a human being.

If only his bark matched his fur.

Here’s hoping it won’t match his bite.

04/03

…An adrenaline rush, knowing my happiness destroyed his own. I was alive. I was free. But like any high, I imagine, it had to come to an end. And this high, it fell down slowly, and struck mad hard. But I will always look fondly, that year, that smell. I was free. I. Was. Alive.

04/04

….Two smiles meet, and then time – it becomes still….

04/05

Arm around you, with an S curl.

I am reminded that I am not alone in this world.

04/06

Falling.

Falling down

               endless

                        spirals,

         I am lost.

Uncertainty.

        Uncertainty is wondering if I will brush

                                       these waves

                                                        aside…..

04/07

It’s funny how you know what you want,

                          the moment another swallows

                                                                      you

               whole.

04/08

….Glass-eyed, a porcelain doll waits….

 

Hope you all enjoyed that! It’s been so interesting to see what ideas I come up with everyday, whether they are perfect, small, or nowhere in between. If you are participating in #napowrimo as well, let me know below!

Be sure to check out my latest post about teaching a theatre design and storytelling workshop to youth students, linked here.

Stay safe, and stay crazy out there, my dears.

 

What you used to Know.

In front of the mirror, I make myself into perfection.

Layer upon layer, I create a persona, a creature I want to be, to be believed.

A bus I used to know, large bag of heavy memories and the regrets of someone some time ago who drove me to fear some fires.

 

A sea of faces I have grown to ignore, I walk alone into a space that was a second home.

The back of a gentleman I once spoke to, just a ways in front of me. I dart into the hallway I spent nights wandering, laughing, tricking doors into not locking me away.

 

The room of education, of art, of three years of my life.

To my left – room into room of familiar faces.

 

I am smoke, passing through without a breath nor a word nor a hair noticed.

I look through the hall door, a play on repetitive motion, I had it seen so many times.

 

 

What is air. What is tension.

 

 

This is no nostalgia.

These are what I used to know.

What I thought I knew.

What I wanted to believe I knew.

 

 

Breeze whisks me away.

 

 

I will not become a disaster.

 

I was never what you used to know.

From Day Into Night

 

Trickling down from the dark blue

into wild violet

blending into passionate red

feeding into the oranges and yellows that are the last memory of

The sun.

 

I look at that moment happen every day as I take the long walk back to my apartment.

 

Men scream slurs and derogatory terms at me

a touch of loud radios

the screech of a motorcycle

That is the symphony.

 

Breathing in car fumes and softly cooking food, I walk. I think.

 

A cold customer, imagine of a cake in their face comes to mind.

I wonder what tomorrow brings.

Will I see you again? Will we really tango this time?

 

I walk from day into night as the sun makes its exit,

the moon takes its place –

sitting in its guard tower as

We walk mischievously through the shadows it cannot reach.

 

I walk through the night, hoping to see your face.

 

I walk through the night.

#ThrowbackTuesday: Ode to My Green Blanket

My mother was looking through an old flash drive of hers today, and discovered some old poems and stories of mine. They range from late middle school until my senior year of high school. Oh, what an unhappy child I was, attempting to get through puberty.

Trying to describe love’s unfortunate kiss when I had yet to experience it – and in some ways, I still haven’t.

The first research paper I ever wrote about Tine Howe. I wrote it for my high school theatre class my senior year. Who would have known that I’d end up writing another one 3 years later in college? Given that at that point that was my only theatre experience outside of my science club’s dinner theatre, I’d say it would have surprised some people.

These little documents made me blush, but it’s incredible to see how I started as a writer and how much has changed since.

Of the collection, here’s a poem I wrote my freshman year of high school (why hello there, 2007), Ode to My Green Blanket, which is about my favorite blanket from my childhood – and by childhood favorite, I mean I slept with it until college. Not even a little bit sorry.*

 

My green blanket,

My shield

against all evil,

Feels like it’s made

of  a unicorn’s

silky hair,

Its colors were once

as green as

a rainbow,

Now is torn

by never-ending

time,

Smells like

milk

and clean flesh,

It is a tapestry,

A tapestry of

my homes,

my memories,

my dreams,

my secrets,

Without it,

I have no future,

no love,

It is

my ballroom dress,

my winter cloak,

my bed,

my home,

It holds

my family

within its

bear claws,

What is

my lesson?

My green blanket

is life itself,

sadness,

happiness,

All

in one package,

Never

forget

that.