Posts
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The last poem I'll write about you
Memories frozen in amber
are dropped on my doorstep like a cruel present--
your freckles and your smile and your green eyes like grass and summer leaves,
that nickname nobody had ever called me
before you, -
None of the days have passed away
The stars have yet to fall from the sky.
They cling to the velvety darkness above them, little silver pinpricks, listening for their cue,
for when they can explode in a burst of white-hot magnificence
to lead the way to our cabins -
Blackberries
When you look at me like that I feel dumb –
pretending you didn't make me weak in the knees.
Pretending I didn't feel them, the zaps of electricity
crackling in your laugh.
Pretending I was ever immune
to you. -
i might cry
It'll be hard to write this poem because
I might cry
when the words become jumbled memories
nostalgia pouring out of the depths of my mind and unfolding on a blinding-white computer screen -
Text messages I'd never have the guts to send
Hi
I haven't seen you in a while
How are you doing
I don't think we ever really talkedWe talked so much
We used to talk every dayIt wasn't anything important thoughYou still don't know why I did what I didIt's fine -
... And Now It Is May Again
I was in the car, riding shotgun
listening to a song that sounded like summer
like tires rolling over hot asphalt
like mud stuck to the bottom of a murky pond
like a brain freeze from the coveted chill of ice cream
Loves
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Boxes of Those Photos
We used to be seven
My curls used to be sunshineColored
You used to be stubborn
Naive stubborn.
The powder used to hit our kneesOn the days
When we could eat lunch in four bites
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Fall and trees and wondering about love
It’s:
twisted
crinkled like
the leaves
they’re frail now,
on the edge
of not there.
scrolling photos
feverishly
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observation iii
We run back to your house,
The lights are still on,
And they cover your freckled face,
Like it's the sun.
The grass brushes our feet,
And the wind catches in your hair,
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observation ii
We sit out on the sand,
The fog covers the sky,
And blankets the world,
Like a shield.
The waves nip at our feet,
The water's cold
But I'm warm because you hold my hand,
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observation i
We stand on the dock,
The sun has set,
But I can see your happiness
Even in the dead of night.
The streetlight's on,
The metal is all rusted
And covered in salt,
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those poets and their sunrises
(ywp is like the sunrise)
washed in watercolor above the sleeping world
enchantingly illuminatory
& strawberry melting into orange creamsicle. if you pay
close attention, it never really ends