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Oct 07

the steps of making tea


i have never found myself in poetry,
but i think i may have found myself in your arms
as we sit in your kitchen, waiting for the kettle;
your soft eyes and parted lips, sculpted by aphrodite
as you silently boil the water. 

you have careful fingers as you pour the hot water
into two red, chipped mugs. i remember the
gentle pressure of those fingers twisted in my hair. 

curled green leaves lay with small jasmine flowers,
Sep 20
poem 0 comments challenge: General

If I Could Fold the World

Once I folded an origami rose,
Layers of curled petals spiralling,
Gently leaning back in the sun,
Wrapping in close to itself.

Imagine if I could stretch my arms and reach,
miles and miles
grasping
the North Pole with one hand,
the South Pole with the other.
Folding the northern tip of Canada down to the equator.

People would dance, arms curled around each other,
The world would gently lean back towards the sun,
The world would wrap people in close to itself.
If only I knew how.

The instructions are not folded away in a drawer,
Hidden among layers of paper.
Leaning back into my imagination’s sunfire,
I must find my own way,
Wrapping my hands close around the idea,
that will let me fold the world.
Sep 09

dancing with the sun

6:37 PM.
early september.

follow me,
called the sun.

and so we did.

up and over the hill,
bike wheels on dirt road
cool breeze in loose hair
the world on fire.

an open field
tinted by the filter of late summer. 

we run and spin and smile and talk and sing and laugh and live.

the world is broken.
it's battered and bloody and bruised
damanged and disfigured and distressed.

but it's also this,
whole and joyful and jubilant. 

we're alive.

and so
we dance with the sun. 

8:24 PM
early september.

it will get better,
whispers the sun.

we forget we ever doubted otherwise. 
Sep 04

Women Stand Up

At camp we play a game,
Called Women Stand Up.
We stand up for what we’ve accomplished,
We stand up when we’ve been hurt,
And we stand up for our truth.

Women stand up.
All of the intelligent engineers,
Painters, and singers.
The brilliant architects, chemists,
Mechanics and dancers.
Stand up,
Not just because you are a women,
But because you’ve accomplished something amazing,
You have been you.

To the non-believers,
Don’t be surprised at what we can do.
For the world tries to seperate women and education,
Just as much as they try to seperate art and science.
Unfortunately for them,
We can’t be classified as “art people” or “science people”,
We can't be stopped by your inability to innovate,
We aren’t just “people”.

The headlines won’t read: “First women to do…”,
They will simply state: “First to do…”.
Because when we succeed,
Aug 08

A Celestial Body of My Own

I.
He told me to stop being an atheist.
He acted as if my tortured soul
couldn't be salvaged
unless I repented
and believed wholly in something larger.
He looked at me with sad eyes
and begged me to believe
with my broken hands in his.
I remember turning away.

II.
It's not that I was worthless,
I just found it hard to bring myself
to give credit to something else out there.
My successes were mine to claim,
to flaunt and love.
My failures were mine to accept,
to acknowledge and internalize.
I refused to credit something else
with my own growth and progress.

III.
I broke open my ribs,
split them clean in half at the sternum
and scooped out every last piece of me
with open hands.
He only realized what I truly meant
when I showed him my bare beating heart.
I remember him turning away.

IV.
I didn't know how to love myself,
Aug 04
poem 1 comment challenge: Rain
iski23's picture

Sunlight in a storm
























Thunder pounded my chest
All I saw was haze
I was lost in a daze
The lightning struck
I was out all out of luck
Home was gone I was only left in the rain
It brought me pain
I kept walking through the mist hoping for light
The rain and I began to fight
Then sunshine peeked through the darkness only rays
I looked towerds the light oh was it ever bright
That is when I found out the world comunicated in many different ways


































 
Jul 01

No Poet

I write poems but I'm no poet, I'm a teenager.
Wandering through the age when nothing makes sense,
lost in the forest,
hoping beyond hope that my keyboard
will open up one day,
splitting between the "g" and the "h", the "t" and the "y"
prying open like a ribcage, to uncover a map.

So far I have been stuck with keys to type my dreams into, no map to be seen,
but maybe this poem will finally turn out the edges,
laying bare the route carved into my heart, my lungs.
if only I cram a little more of my soul inside. 

I write to reflect, in the desperate hope that
between periods and capitals 
I will extract the answers everyone expects me to know
from my heart to my toes. 

I used to wish I could be an author,
writing sentences woven into gripping stories
piecing together new worlds to gobble the reader up
into new adventures. But these "perfect" stories are planned
Jun 24
poem 5 comments challenge: General

Cages

I want my mother
at night.
When my body catches up with my mind
and my face unfolds from sleep so I can
remember every detail of the dream that woke me.

I want my mother
at night.
When I stumble from my raised bed to hers
two rooms down and to the left.
Her covers are better,
her arms warmer,
her breath reassuring.

I want my mother
at night.
When I lose my first tooth
and I don't know if the fairy will come
because I might have put it under my pillow too late.

I want my mother
at night.
When she keeps the light on in her room
while she reads the bills until the morning.

I want my mother 
at night.
When the shouting reverberates in my ears,
about how what we have is not enough
anymore.
How the crops are nothing compared to NAFTA.

I want my mother
at night.
When the days are getting longer
Jun 13
Mr. What a drag's picture

WE MUST NOT GIVE UP


We must not give up 

Cause the world is not our home bus
and will lap us anytime. it will
not stop moving, no matter who 
you are


We must not give up

Cause we got dreams 
to feed, and they can 
not be fed by anybody else
except us the people who 
are going to accomplish them

We must not give up

Cause we must tell those
who dare to say that we can't
do it, that we can. 
and they must stop 
underestimating our will to fight,
or they are going to get it

We must not give up

Cause we are trapped in this game of life
and the only way out is to beat it.
But just so you know, we can't defeat this 
game with this low negative level of courage
we must keep moving, we must keep running
we must keep playing, we must keep getting up
we must not give up so we can rise as champions.
Audio download:
06.25.18.VPR_.Amuri_.mp3
Jun 09

In a City

The Black and White dancer photograph was taken by Tricia Gustafson, and the rest I took myself.
 
Jun 06

Again & Again

May 27

social ladder

She clings
helpless
to her rung, 
never looking at
those below her,
always gazing up
to where they all want to be;
the rungs that hold
the rich
perfect
thin things.
The popular ones.

Her rung is crowded
with all her "friends" clinging to it
to her.

All they want is to move
up.
They tell themselves they will
be happy there,
at the top.
If they looked, they could see that isn't true.

And she spends 
all her energy
trying to climb,
but as soon as she takes a hand off
to reach the next rung,
the whole
ladder 
shakes
and she puts it back on.

don't climb, they whisper to her, you won't make it, you could fall.
But you can't stay here, 
they whisper to her, you'll never be happy, you can only be happy at the top.
you 
need to be at the top.

And she tries;
May 12
eulusivepurplepanda's picture

A Letter for Me Ten Years From Now


​What is it like to live by yourself (At least I assume you do)?
​Is it like the freedom you craved when you were fourteen? 
​Did you ever find that perfect escape? Were you finally able to runaway for good? 
Where do you live? 
​When you were fourteen, you wanted to move away to Europe (Preferably The Netherlands or the UK) 
You wanted to live in one of those hipstery towns with coffee shops and fancy apartment buildings. 
When you were fourteen, you wanted to travel the world. 
​If you're reading this, I assume you're twenty-four. 
​You probably haven't gotten that far, but have you see more than Canada? 
If you have, is it as beautiful as we thought it would be? 

​Do you still write? 
​When you were fourteen, you wanted to write for a living. 
I knew that would be some time before that could happen. 
​Have been writing out more drafts? 
​Which brings this question, what do you do for a living? 
May 11

Plight of a Speaker, Writer, Typer

There are three routes
from my brain to get words from myself to someone else.
I can use my voice,
write my thoughts by hand,
or type with the tapping of fingers.

Recalling every last word from my brain
from over the past sixteen,
nearly seventeen,
years has grown to be a nuisance.
There are words buzzing about like worker bees,
droning and drifting as if waiting for the next command,
waiting for the queen bee's beck and call.
They bump into one another,
muttering hushed apologies before they hurry along.
From there, the lucky few tear down through my being
and grab me by the throat.
At times, they jostle me awake
and I cannot help but whisper them to myself,
a feeble attempt to catalog and to remember.
More often than not, they die on my tongue,
dammed up by vocal cords
and faltering folds because I lack the coordination
May 08
Nicole Jasmin's picture

Not a Teenager, Nor a Child

I want to be the person I want to be,
silly and happy like a child,
but at the same time, 
I want to act grown up.

Some teens that I'm around just seem to be a little.. grown up for me?
I wonder if other people feel that way.
I don't want to be identified as "Nicole the Child"..
I don't want to be identified as "Nicole the Teen."
All I just want to be called is Nicole, 
Or Tater, the nickname my parents call me. 

What? 
Should I be with the serious and hard-working seniors,
Or rather with the young, crazy second graders?
I am a seventh grader,
I want to fall in between.
Don't say that I'm growing up fast, mom and dad,
Don't call me immature.
I don't want to hear that.
It's not easy to be considered a "kid" at 13 years of age,
It's also not hard to mistake me for a teen. 
I'm just startng puberty,
Not ending it.