Terrible, Self-Indulgent “Poetry” Vol.1

Sylvia-Plath-Quotes-3

(Image found at https://goo.gl/images/xaEQAq)

I will occasionally post badly written, navel gazing, free verse “poetry.” If you can deal with annoying alliteration and obnoxious metaphors, welcome to Terrible, Self-Indulgent “Poetry” Vol.1…can I call it a volume if there are only two entries? Fuck it. It’s my blog.

Moonchild (8/24/17)

No one should look so alive in the 2 PM heat

But she shines, even standing on the crowded balcony

Everything around us is beige and bland

But not her

Blue hair and a bit of silver sparkling on her nose

I can’t look away from her eyes

Onyx?

No.

Obsidian?

No.

Graphite.

Yes, that’s it.

Graphite. Dark and metallic.

We’ve never met, but I know her

Manic

Pixie

Dream

Girl

I hate her

I want to be her

She won’t speak

She can’t speak

She just stares with those eyes

Looking farther and further

She is a child of the moon

Blotting out the sun so only her light can be seen

No one else sees her

Crowding together and staring at the sky

Too much in awe of the eclipse

Unaware that SHE is the eclipse

When the sun returns, she is gone

 

Home (8/28/17)

Home is where the heart is

My home is a cage

Made of bones

The thing inside is dead

Or dying

A fragile creature

Stomped, crushed, shattered

Put back together

Too many times

Held together by hope

And hope is dying, too

If I give it away

If I trust again

And he breaks it

It won’t survive

Dead thing in a cage

Of bones

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