if i was a stone arch, that little stone in the center who holds everything together would collapse under the weight of all the pressure i feel.
in second grade, i write. i make up stories about families with lots of children and pets, who live in huge mansions, while i look out the window of our apartment waiting for the kids to come home on the school bus.
in sixth grade, i’m now two years ahead of everyone else. i’m fitting the homeschooler stereotype of “omg ur 16 & u have a phd!!” but the next year i start fifth grade- a step back or the right stone to add to the arch so it all balances perfectly?
eight grade now. absolutely the worst time of anyone’s life. tell me about someone who was actually happy in eighth grade and i’ll give you one of my kidneys. some friends stay, almost all are changing
i shouldn’t like you. every time we’re together, i burn internally, an inextinguishable flame that grows and grows with each moment, an exponential enemy that will not escape.
i really shouldn’t like you. but when i leave you, when we’re not together, i feel pain like i never have before. it’s the worst detachment that could ever exist, the worst form of loss that only lives in my mind.
and i try to convince myself. because, realistically, i don’t need you. i’m strong and unique and i don’t have to objectify something to make myself feel more complete.
but. i love you. yes, i’ve said it, and i really do love you. despite what anyone says, and despite what symptoms can’t be explained because they’re figments of a smothered explosion, i still love you.
it seems like the reprise of my life. all these days i’m pouring out my feelings into word documents, with some fancy title.dox hoping that maybe this sequence of syllables is the right one, and maybe this metaphor is the perfect metaphor and maybe if i just write one more line with no capital letters everything in my life will be better.
so remedy this sadness- here, press tab and create a new stanza for people to analyze. it’s supposed to be abstract but i think i might be lying to myself when i said my poems aren’t about you and how much i wish you were mine. i said they’re about emotions, to make them more universal, to make them more subtle, to make them less about teenager girl struggles between pink or purple scrunchies and crushes on boys who either live across the country or don’t smile back when we make eye contact.
Hi everyone! Here is Episode 2 of Line Break. This week I spoke with Inkpaw about her poem, "Questions of a self considered poet," what makes a poet a poet, our favorite books, and driving as a teenager. I hope that you enjoy! Interested in being interviewed for Line Break? Message me! - Iris
how have you hidden this time around? i will steal the car from the garage if it means i’ll find your key ring somewhere on church st because if ever there was a portal to heaven it surely would exist under leunig’s where the cherry French toast trails under every door and the first breath in heaven contains oregano, because there’s nothing more heavenly than food cooked with delight and i’m positively sure i saw you once in the dim light outside of the restaurant, facing the corner and looking mysterious because it’s not right for a saint to look bored in any way. i almost called out your name but i’m certain you would have pretended to not know me. your hand would have hovered over the key ring, and the one silver key that never fits in door locks, that you claim is just for a diary, must be for the door that humans spend their lives trying to reach.
The long-awaited first episode of YWP's podcast, Line Break, is finally here! This week I joined IrishJayne and we discussed her poem, "A Reminder About The Boy You Love," physics, inspiration, and a little bit of Harry Potter. I hope you enjoy and let me know about any interest in participating in the podcast! Iris :)
the truth is i never wanted to say goodbye i never wanted the sun to set or the stars to appear amidst the darkness, i never wanted to part ways. i never wanted to feel alone, i never wanted to wish i wasn't here. i never wanted you to forget about me. i never wanted the radio to stop playing jazz, i never wanted to close the piano lid.
the truth is i never wanted you to go into the dirt. i never wanted you to cease being mine. i would offer you an apology, but i never want to seem breakable.