White Nikes

In my first post I talked a little about clichés . . .

Here's something suspicious I wrote in my room on one of my poetry breaks:


White Nikes

I'm counting every glance
you’re eyes are so blue, like pieces of the sky
maybe if I fell into them, gravity couldn’t bring me back
and I would fly
and I would fly
and I would fly

Um . . . ew. That's been said a BILLION times by EVERYBODY. 

I have so much fun with how icky this sounds. Like old play-doh, it's all dried up and smelly. 

Sigh. Don't you just love clichés? 

Maybe this next one's better—it's not so mushy and weird:

109

When August’s damp hand falls

we shelter behind our fans

gasping for air under our flimsy roofs

but soon the plywood will give

will be ground into the dirt

leaving only the bare, raw skin,

blood-soaked soil all around. 

The smell of sweat and rotting flesh,

the things we’ve lost,

the decay that surrounds us

hold sleep just out of reach—

but we must keep moving, 

keep slowly killing ourselves until

the fingers slowly lift

giving way to a chilling September breeze

which cleans our wounds

and allows us one last breath.

Wow. That was intense, wasn't it? I can't decide if it makes me feel really alive or really, really DEAD.

This next one I've gotten some interesting reviews on. It almost made a woman cry who I VERY rarely see cry (is it really THAT bad???) and one person said they didn't like it. They said, "It's like the poetry I used to write. It just gets rambly towards the end, and it's kind of pointless. It doesn't mean anything."

Hmph! I'd liked it until I heard that. (I do see what they meant though. It doesn't really go anywhere.)

I actually decided to turn each of the chunks in this one into its own thought. I didn't do that. I'm too lazy.        

     

Even if it's not amazing, I will keep it. To be able look back and think, Wow, I used to be so terrible! is a luxury.

I Remember Everything

The time

A friend said she would wait for me but didn’t 

And I felt so betrayed.

A woman in line for the biggest slice of key lime pie

All I know about Taylor Swift is that she’s a country singer.

Charlotte, I didn’t realize you were so old.

My dad took us to a soccer game because it was free

the next day I found out all my friends had gone

to a game somewhere else

and paid.

I came back from the beach my upper thigh a hot, fevered pink

the pain burning white as the jellyfish.

My auntie sat me down at the kitchen counter

and showed me how to make a peanut butter banana sandwich.

My second cousin and I 

Standing in the driveway 

Yellow volleyball

My silhouette outlined in a halo of light from the porch.

I hit the ball high into the black night sky

He watched it fly up towards the stars and said

Why was that so angelic.

Morning light through a barn window

Same boy

Yellow armchair.

He’d asked his dad if she’d taken pills

He’d said no.

Concern perched behind his brown, brown eyes

And my heart sank down

Into the guilt

That I could not tell him 

I knew.

The morning my brother took his first breath

My tiny footsteps spattered down the hall.

I burst into the room, my sister on my heels.

We fought to hold him first. She won.

I sometimes wonder

If I could be special.