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Jan 10

Faces 2

Another go at digital art- I was originally going for a fiery look like the second one.
 
Jan 06

To the Boy Who Danced in the Cafeteria Before the Bell

I am often not who I think I am. 
When I was in 6th grade I counted birds
out of the bus window on my way to school. 
I dreamed about flying as much as falling from high places. 

Today the lunch lady smiled back
when I said: "thank you". 

Today, the music resonated from the cardboard speakers
like a tired bee
and became little more than my miracle. 

He is a flash of wild hair and flailing arms
and freedom that washes away down the white hallway,
flooding every imprisoned brick with electric orange. 

If he was a paint color his name would be "Awake". 

I wanted to join him. 
I wanted to find joy in simplicities,
like cafeteria music on a Monday afternoon.  

He probably used to count birds too. 
He has already become my lighthouse. 

Jan 06

if I were to sing


If I were to sing
of all the good things 
in my life
i would sing of the smell of my mum's homemade soup
Warm and gentle, yet subtlety spicy 
and the way acrylic paint feels on my fingers
so smooth, tempting me to smudge something with color
how the moon sparkles when it's relfected in you eyes
a curious playful shine, that makes me want to ask you about everything 
if I were to sing of the woes of the world
i would sing about how so many 
feel worthless, or hopeless, or just like living equals pain
I've been there I know
but killing yourself, it isn't some funny joke
and depression is a serious thing
or maybe I'd tell you just how much death our race has inflicted
opon our planet 
and how many suffer every day
if I were to sing of my self
I don't know what I'd say
I'm imperfect 
and lonely 
I struggle 
and work my way through things
I feel sadness 
Jan 06

Fly

They teach us and rejoice when we 
Walk
But all we want is to 
Fly
So we ask, 
"Why can't we fly, like the birds?"
They smile and shake their heads.  
"You'll learn, someday."
They walk away as we think,
Someday we'll fly.
And they might crush our dreams and
Force us to walk,
But inside we will always soar higher than they ever
Could.  
 
Jan 05
poem 0 comments challenge: Fifteen
kaitlynmacphee's picture

Just 15 Words


There's 

Small 
Gift
In 
All 
Of 
Us
From 
The 
Universe
Waiting 
To 
Be 
Discovered.

 
Jan 05
poem 2 comments challenge: CJP-Iran

Ey Iran

We watch the news and 
fear. 

There are angry tears 
a lot, nowadays. 

Being an Iranian 
in America is terrifying 
sometimes, 

knowing that both the countries
you are a part of hate each other
poisons you from within.

My mother prays for the people
who are detained at the border
who share our stories, 

share our features,

share our country.

My father prays for our family,
for all the people left behind,
who share our faces,

share our blood,

share our love. 

I pray for ourselves because 
they taught us what happened during
World War II and

you can love the U.S.

but not trust it. 

I never realized how quickly this country
could change its mind about you, 
but then the travel ban happened, 
and now this, 

my people are not criminals, 
Jan 01
poem 0 comments challenge: Perfect

Day

In the morning

The sun

Yearns for my waking eyes

The breeze is as mellow as my breath

That appears on the window

As if to greet me

In the morning

With a reminder

That i am alive

I relish in the softness

Of the blankets

That entrap my legs

Like vines

Pulling me against the bed

Keeping me in comfort.
In the afternoon

The light is enticing 

But the cold penetrates my skin

And dives beneath my clothes

Every hair stands up

In a rush

That travels to my head

And i am reminded

Where i am

May it be behind a desk

Fidgeting 

Or sat on the floor

Back against the wall

Sun shining through a glass door

Against my face

The light is so enticing.
In the evening
Jan 01
poem 0 comments challenge: Unusual
LGPug's picture

The Christmas Tree Farm

One child, tall and strong, watching from afar
The other, small and frail, under fir tree, touching branches
Seeing – yet not with eyes
First child approaches
Looks at and runs hands along same fragrant tree
As the other runs hands over needles below
Two separate yet connected hearts, meeting at last
One who sees the shapes of the world
The other who sees with touch
Both under a fir tree
Their new beginning

 
Jan 01
poem 0 comments challenge: Unusual
LGPug's picture

The Christmas Tree Farm

One child, tall and strong, watching from afar
The other, small and frail, under fir tree, touching branches
Seeing – yet not with eyes
First child approaches
Looks at and runs hands along same fragrant tree
As the other runs hands over needles below
Two separate yet connected hearts, meeting at last
One who sees the shapes of the world
The other who sees with touch
Both under a fir tree
Their new beginning

 
Dec 29

When morning

When the folds of blue have finally colored
themselves sunset and captured Selfies and hearts.
When the moon paints her marbles silver and rolls
them across the floor of the sky for her earth to
look at as she drifts off into her realm of dreams.

When people have tucked their spawn beneath blankets
and sheets, promised morning and flicked off the lights.
When the bloodshot sky clots around the horizon and
commands us to call her dawn, whispering to her
armies of trees to not move when they can be seen by people.

When the flowers return to their plots and gardens from
their late bars and night clubs, and pretend to wake
up from a deep slumber as if to fool us.
When light is spread over our land like honey on morning toast,
it looks like a road, or many roads rather, all pointing to the west,
telling us we will find yesterday's sun but not where we expect it to be.

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