Free Verse
Your eyes inspired a love poem
It was your eyes I fell for first, which was noteworthy since I struggle with looking at people's eyes on a usual basis. Green pools that reminded me of the plants sitting on my desk at work. Are they still alive? I haven't watered them in over a week. They're succulents, so they must be fine. I hope you won't think of me that way, just a plant that only needs watering every once in a while. But what was I talking about? Oh, right, your eyes, or more what I fell for. It's terrifying. Falling that is. I'm not sure if you want to catch me or leave me to drown in your eyes. People speak of drowning like it is a good thing, but I think it can be dangerous. Your eyes start to become so all-encompassing that I forget to look out for the sharks. But I shouldn't have to worry about flaws that will bite at me, tearing pieces of me away until I am nothing, should I? I am supposed to be safe in your eyes, right? I am supposed to trust what is reflected in your eyes, right? They are windows, peeks into your inner person, your truth. So, please tell me now, was falling for your eyes first a mistake or the first right thing I did with you? Because if it was wrong, I want to come up for air now. If it is right, swim with me as we fall into each other eyes. We'll be each other's air in this deep beyond they call love.
By Alexandria Stanwyck2 years ago in Poets
Open Palms
Introduction "Let it go," is the advice often given by well-meaning relatives or friends when they witness us explode over someone else's infraction. We have to agree with them- it's difficult and pointless to remain angry over a trespass that is irreversible. But, as with everything else, it's easier said than done.
By Michelle Liew Tsui-Lin2 years ago in Poets
Wrung Me Dry
I would have never chosen anyone over you. Despite the fact that you never gave me grace. You said you waited for me but we both know you were born without patience, you did no waiting. You borrowed my time, used me and wrung me dry, and once I became tattered and didn't bend back fluffy and new from the drying line, you found me ugly, stiffened, not realizing you did the using. Told me to sort it out, foot the dry cleaning bill and return new or as close to it as I could. Even though I had been the one used to clean up all your messes. Losing bits of myself all along the way. Sopping and soaking up, cushioning and cleansing, wash, rinse, and repeating with you. Allowing whatever cycle you were in to run it's full course. Again
By Hayley Matto2 years ago in Poets
Remembering My Mama
Dear Mama, Because you were born on January 3, 1929, I have decided to remember you especially on this day: J jacks you taught me how to play that game, and when I was older, you taught me canasta. You had a special way of shuffling those two decks of cards. In my mind, I can still see your hands doing that.
By Shirley Belk2 years ago in Poets
