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Aug 14
poem 2 comments challenge: General
Lynnez's picture

Day Dreaming

Aug 10

what i will tell the hairdresser

Freedom, I used to think,
was long hair billowing
behind me in the wind
split ends and bed head and braids
down my back.

I used to mourn when
the girls I knew with long beautiful hair—
red, mostly, like tendrils of fire—
cut it all off.
Who would shed their phoenix feathers?

Now the hair which I took such care
to grow out, always growing out,
weighs upon my neck
strangles me when I lay it on my pillow,
little coils of rope, still wet.

I think I know those girls-turned-women
for I, too, thirst for an unfamiliar freedom—
one where the wind strokes my shoulders
instead of toying with dead cells—
a new kind of confidence, power, beauty.

When before have I wanted to shed the past?
Aug 06
poem 2 comments challenge: Left Out

The People I'd Rather Not Be

The people who know what to say.
The people who say what they mean every time.
The people who talk, talk behind others backs--it makes them cool.
The people who are loved by everyone.
The people who get the inside jokes.
The people who want to be in the circle,
and The people who are...

I am not these people.
When everyone's talking,
I'm not.
I'm listening,
until I say something.
And then those people go quiet.
You could hear a pin drop.
Because what I say is not what they want to hear.
They want the funny.
The teasing.
The flirting.
They want the right thing every time.
But I'm not those people.
I don't have the right words to give...
But then, they smirk.
Almost turn away,
but not quite.
Inviting me in, kinda.
Almost daring me to make a comment again.
Just so they can smirk at me.
Aug 05

Pieces of Home

This summer I’ve dedicated a great deal of my time to learning Mandarin and relearning my Spanish.  In the process I have met a great deal of people internationally who are wonderful.  A common request is to see photos of where I’m from, because they’re all interested in what life in America is life, so I have been taking a lot more photos (despite my lack of photography skills) to show them.  This summer has been particularly special to me because I will be attending college in Massachusetts starting this fall, and although I’ll be returning it’s been a little more bittersweet and sentimental.  I was going to write an accompanying poem to make up for my photographs, but I think these are better left alone.
Jul 18


Sometimes I forget
That my vases,
Porcelain and decorated with intricate cerulean details,
The result of years of hard work and sweat,
The ones that are now shattered, jagged, and ruined,
Scattered on the marble floor in shards,
Appear merely as wooden blocks to the passersby.

To them, it was once a sturdy tower
And it will be again, as if time had waited.

To them, my problems appear small and ordinary,
Easily fixable.

I wish I had known this earlier.

(author's note: basically the previous poem, but with some edits and also I recorded me reading it.)

Jul 04

Bloody Freedom

Dear America,
What would have happened if we never stole this land?
Never polluted it with our cold superiority,
our ships swarming with sickly death,
our flashing bullets thirsting for blood.

If the people native to this land,
who tended it as a arboreous, continental garden,
were allowed to remain, 
in entirety?

Rather than as the scattered splinters
of the last tree standing
in a sacred forest,
burned to the ground
by the unquenchable flames of greed.

Dear Europe,
how do you feel that your reckless descendants
have polluted The New World
worse than the old?

That they have crushed it beneath 
hundreds, thousands, 6.5 million pairs
of heeled boots and polished dress shoes,
stilettos and Nikes,

Toppling the refuge of ancient forests,
Soiling the clear waters with the mud caking their soles,
Jun 23

Proud to Be

I wrote it on a flag.
His flag that flew from here to Florida and then home
With him.
I will miss you more than I even know yet,
I wrote.
 My blue permanent maker letters
Bled into the white nylon stripes.
Yes, I filled two of them;
Wordiness runs in my genes, in my ink,
And apparently on nylon, too.

I skipped the red stripe so that my message matched everyone else's.
Jun 19

Civil Rights Speech (Verbal)

Throughout history we have been fighting for equal rights. Either for our own or someone else's. Women’s Rights. African American Rights. LGBT Rights.

We recognize these movements as we see them happening all around us. We oppose or support them. We rarely stand in the middle.

As we watch these movements barrel downhill we watch people trying to spear these movements to stop them.

Destroy them before they reach the point of no return. Their criticizing comments hold us back from taking all the steps we need too.

This is why racism and sexism and homophobia and all other hate still exist.

We have heard the speeches, the comments, the subtle rebellion. We have seen all that has been done to stop these movements.

I have seen the movements. I have heard the hate. Martin Luther King Jr. had his dream, and I have mine.
Jun 11

To the Girl I Know as Strong

To the girl I know as strong,
I'm here for you, my dear,
Whether it be through light and happiness,
Or treachery and fear.

As long as the sun rises in the morning,
And sets in the dusky night,
As long as the mountains stand tall,
And the ponds shimmer light.

Whether it's when life gets tough,
Or a heart bleeds rougher, 
Some tears run dry,
Or there isn't any suffer.

Whether it be huge,
Or maybe just small,
May our ideas grow big,
Or we have none at all.

Darling, maybe they won't understand,
Or maybe they can,
But it won't really matter,
Because together we stand.

To the girl I know as strong,
I'm here for you my dear,
For whatever you may need me,
I will always be right here.


Jun 06

Again & Again

Jun 04

Works of Art

Jun 03


Somewhere in the woods,
On a dreary night,
At the dreariest hour,
Diana stood on a stump,
Her hair loose;
Pale as flour. 

The pine surrounding her,
In its ominous moans,
Sang to her in their dark,
Terribly ominous,
And far deep,
Yet calming tones.

They begin to shout.

"Cease, must it be! 
We still stand,
But only for this land,
and not for your false harmony!"

And there Diana stood,
Unbothered by it all.
She had heard their plea,
And answered their call.
If not them,
Then who shall fall?

Just to speak it is a shame!
There is not us,
Or our mother, Diana,
To blame!

It is them!
They have filthied us,
Drenched us in their rotten nature!
There is nothing natural about this,
Nothing good in this danger!

We have shouted and burned,
May 30


May 20

Quadratic Formula Poem

Quadratic Formula Poem

X marks the spot,
If you pessimistically encounter a bee,
You should contribute something to it’s existence,
Or, perhaps,
Take the same something.

I’ve heard,
You know,
That bees,
On their birthdaays,
Appreciate a gift that is square in shape,
But rooted in thoughtfulness.

A gift containing bubbles or bobbles or babbles or blubber,
Nibbles or cobbles or pebbles or rubber,
From which you have removed a quadruplet of aces.
My dear friends,
Is how to cover your bases.

Enter every best-birthday-gift-for-a-bee competition.
I promise,
You’ll be boasting first places.

Author's note: the spelling of "birthdaay" is intentional
May 18

Fun & Games

May 16


May 15

How to Lose Your Name

You lose your name
in a language that gives
your name vowels like
curdled milk.

You lose your name 
after hearing
all the variations
that are not your name.

You lose your name
in the eyes of new teachers
or substitutes, in that moment
they cringe when they 
see your name at 
the top of the list.

You lose your name
when you meet new people 
and your heart falls because
you don't even care to 
explain to them how to say it

You lose your name
when everybody calls you 
by the other name, the wrong
name, that haunts you all
day long, lurking even in
the shadows until you want to shout:
That's not my name!
You lose your name
when your friends 
correct the substitutes because
you don't even care enough 
to correct them

You lose your name
May 10

Night Swimming

Today I listened to the wind. 
The kind of listening that takes over
all senses.
It washed me away. 

Overwhelming. The way it starts to breathe for you.
As. If. You. Might. Drown. 

You look like you might have been swimming. 
But you never admit to loving the river enough to skip school.
I ask to join you next time. 

You don't respond.

I know you laugh like the sun. 
It's hard not to notice. 
"Wishing for unforgiving things is sometimes dangerous." 

I told you
how much it means to me, living with the tides.

I know it's like you said the first night I swam in the dark
"Darkness is only a by-product
of something too sunken to name."
I wish I could tell you
I knew what that meant. 

I wish I could tell
I know the difference
between darkness and water. 

May 05


We walk together again through Coyote Gulch,
sisters, side by side,
seven years of separation since our last excursion. 
The water is so shallow now;
my legs sprouted while I wasn't watching,
like the winter-battered trees will have sprouted
hopeful green buds upon my return.

We were always exactly the same height,
down to the wire,
competitive about it--
growing together but not in alignment. 
By the time I won,