May 31
rory.carrara's picture

Mine

It all started when we were sitting on T-----’s rooftop.
M---- had finally convinced me to join them and that there was no way any of us could fall off of T-----’s trailer roof.
We sat in a circle, sipping iced tea that tasted not totally like tea,
The order was:
Me, M----, C---, T-----, W---, and K------.
While C--- was pouring (more like spilling) the tea,
W--- said to M----,
“So… you brought a girl to the rooftop?”
And I’m sure that K----- knew that W--- can’t whisper,
Because when M---- rolls his eyes, K----- asks me what I’ve been ‘up to this summer’.
I answer and K----- scooches closer, so close that our shoulders touch.
And M---- slides his pinky under mine and slyly winks at me.
K----- is rambling about his summer on the lake and I don’t pay attention until he lays his hand on my thigh and his head is thrown back in laughter.
Everyone looks.
Mar 04
rory.carrara's picture

Reaching for another

I am the hand of a closed fist,

But also an open palm,

Asking the world for more.

I am the hand of stubby fingers clenching an empty bottle,

But also weak wrists needing another one.

I am the hand of chipped nail polish

But also smooth knuckles.

I am the hand of desperate need

To hold another.

I am the hand of soft pages

With even softer words.

At my fingertips

I swear the calluses from her hands

Rubbed onto mine.

My the backs of my hands wish they could catch a break,

The stains of a performing artist attempting the visual cover them,

Crawling towards the fingers,

Reaching for another.

Another,

Reaching for mine too.
 
Dec 14
rory.carrara's picture

Underestimate


Don’t ever underestimate the power of those friends who come pick you up simply to waste gas their parents pay for anyway and old music neither of you have heard since the 7th grade.

It’s the shaking fingertips that you seem to notice when you’re not sure if you’re gonna make it home or not

And when you have to keep your mouth slightly open because breaths are faster than you thought they ever could be but you out of all people should know that you never underestimate anything.

And rolling the window down when you’re choking on the heat

Don’t

And its smiling

And its stories, not on snapchat but it’s stories to tell when the jokes get old and it’s what I’ll tell my kids when they ask me what made me truly happy

And a booming bass is better than some bullshit text you were supposed to send hours ago

Don’t ever
Aug 08
rory.carrara's picture

How can I tell you what I really mean?

How can I tell you what I really mean?

My voice can easily fill a theatre but never once have I been loud enough for you.

I could yell into your hearing even while my voice is covered in confidence and you would’ve never once heard me.

They say silence is the loudest scream but you just aren’t hearing me.

FOR CHRISTS SAKE, CAN YOU HEAR ME NOW?!?

Why can’t you hear me?

Why won’t you listen?
 
Jul 26
rory.carrara's picture

Shouldn't be afraid.

Hi guys! Gee, I really haven't been on here for a while... Gotta change that. I recently attended the Govenor's Institute for the Arts and I don't know if I can truly explain what a perfect expereince it was over the internet. Anyway, while I was there I wrote a lot (and took a class with Geof Hewitt!!!!!) so I'll post those when I get my notebook. This piece I'm going to be posting below is about the shooting in Orlando. During my performance, I sat on the edge of the stage and banged my head against the surface for everytime you see the word BANG. For the last "bang" I did not make a sound with my hand, just said the word. This piece really meant a lot to me, and I hope you guys can appreciate it too. xoxoxoxo

BANG.
"I love you, Mom"... ding...
ding..."I love you too baby."
BANG.
BANG.
"I wish I had done more." The girl next to me says.
Her face is illuminated by a photo on an -I-Phone
It's a little girl
Maybe three
Apr 25
rory.carrara's picture

Thumb


Beat.
Your thumb glides over my knuckle.
Beat.
Your thumb paints invisible marks on my side.
Beat.
Your thumb presses on my cheek as my tongue dances in the warmth of your mouth.
Beat.
Your thumb tops mine on the pew of a crowded church.
Beat.
Your thumb pulls down my bottom lip.
Beat.
“You’re cute.” Whisper the tempting lips.
Beat.
Beat.
Beat.
Beat.
Beat
I bite my thumb nail.
Beat.
Say something I scream at myself on the inside.
Beat.
Beat.
Beat.
I just smile and look down.
Beat.
You and your thumb make me feel special.
Beat.
Beat.
Damn Thumb…
Beat.
Beat.
Beat.
Who would’ve thought your thumb would mean so much to me?
Beat.
“You’re perfect.” My mind thinks over and over again.
Beat.
Beat.
But I never say it.
Beat.
Beat.
Beat.
But I’ve never meant anything more in my life.
Apr 14
poem 0 comments challenge: Blue
rory.carrara's picture

Blue


It was the most beautiful shade of blue I’d ever seen.

Her eyes.

Each day they changed,

And I had never seen them the same.

Yet, they were always those blue eyes.

And when we kissed,

Her pale eyelids drooped,

Hazy with the sense of lust.

I never told her the way they drooped and especially how much I loved it, 

And now I wish I could.

Specks of grey and green,

Specks of confusion and true feeling.

Bitch.

The most beautiful shade of blue eyes played me.

Again.

But here I am wanting to see the eyelids slightly hide the hazy blues.

Here I am wanting to be close enough to recognize the specks of grey and green the specks of confusion.

Again.

I’m addicted to her and I have no idea what I’m doing.

No idea to why I keep coming back to let my own dull eyes swallow the blue.
Feb 08
rory.carrara's picture

Not so happy ending


Once upon a time I had a mother.
A mother that would love and care for me,
a mother who would rub my hair and sing to me,
a mother whose cooking was never second best.
Once upon a time I had a bestfriend.

She was my mother.
Actually, I preferred to call her mum but that’s irrelevant.
In a land far far away is where she is now.

Then this monster came and took mum away.
The most evil monster I’ve ever seen.
And then they told me I’d never see mum again.

I guess this is the end.
Her end.
The End.
Jan 20
rory.carrara's picture

Envious

My blood must be running green with the symbol color of jealousy
and my music must be shouting the anthem of envy.
I wish I could be her.
Everything about the way she is or the attention she gets.
Maybe I’m selfish,
but I’ve never felt jealousy like this.

I’m starting to get sick of this unspoken of, competition.

Her name, unique, like mine, but her’s is prettier.

Her hair, dark, like mine, but her’s is sleeker.

Her cheek bones, elevated, like mine, but her’s are higher.

Her dimple, right side, like mine, but her’s is deeper.

Her poetry, profound, like mine, yet her’s is better.

I’m running around this neverending track trying to catch up
but just when I’m a foot behind her,
out of breath,
panting and my muscles tired,
she sprints ahead.

My sweat must be glistening with constant wishing,
and my fingernails short with anxiety.
Jan 11
rory.carrara's picture

I want to be

I want to be the person who inspires all of your dreams,
the root to your successes. 
I want to be the person who listens to the words that you never let anyone else hear. 
I want to be your go-to everything.
I want to be the one who makes you smile harder than you usually do. 
I want to be the one you're assoictaed with. 
I want to be your role model,
the one you look up to. 

 

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