Poems for the __ done:

16th, 17th, 18th, 19th, 20th, 21st, 22nd, 23rd, 24th, 25th, 26th, 27th.

Tsk tsk, bad me!

I know, I haven't kept up. I have my reasons though. I'm back home, and even though one might think "Yay! Home!" it's taking me forever to get used to it all again. I've been handing out applications and resumes again and may possibly get myself an interview with a woman who owns a landscaping business. It would be very hard work, but I could do it. I'm strong, I mean, I've always been told I'm strong, and I don't like to toot my own horn, but I think there's some validity to those claims. This ain't all fat, you know. Well...I'd like to think that some of this isn't all fat...
Anyway, I'm a tad busy, and I think I've come to face the realization that I'm lactose-intolerant. So no more cheese for me. (In other words, I'm having stomach problems again.)
I have a few poems, waiting in the ranks (not enough, though, to fill up the days missed, I'm still working on that), that I shall post back-dated since some (if not most) of them were actually written some days ago, I'm just a lazy poster. :/
I'll get on that soon, though. (:

Poem, Day 21

Everything I do,
everything I feel
is based on,
riding on
the belief in love,
the need for love
and the illusion that
everything is ruled by love.
Every action,
thought
and wish I partake in
is based on a romantic fantasy,
novel,
film,
or song and I am
terrified
that, soon,
I will stop believing in love and that
soon,
nothing in my life
will hold any meaning
because, to me,
the endless search for a fantastic kind of love
is what is holding the threads together.

When my heart finally succumbs
to the cynicism in my head…
then what?

Poem, Day 20

I fill my days with complaints
and chocolate syrup.
I bask in the joy of being “independent”
and without a man to “tie me down.”
I allow the sun to kiss the apples of my cheeks knowing
that the sun is my only daytime lover,
the moon my only bedtime visitor.

I fill my nights with romance movies
and bags of popcorn left cold,
uneaten.

I spend my dreams wanting love.
Love that would leave me dashed upon
the cliffs of Dover.
White and chalky and full of passion.
I want warmth,
to be filled with the glow of a heart enflamed.
I want a love that will leave me gasping
for a fleeting breath of stale air
and thirsting
for the burn of whiskey on my parched tongue.
I want a love that would withstand time,
and drama,
and anger,
and passion,
and burnout,
bombs,
beauty
and war.

I want a life
that mirrors the screen that glares at me
from across my stale popcorn
as the dawn sun glints through dusty windows.

Poem, Day 19

Whispered cries reverberated off steel ties
as lovers lost themselves in the throes of passionate farewells.
Steel horses clambered by as she held him close
and whispered goodbye into his ear, brushing past the strands of hair:
his skin, warm to the touch.
His tears, hot and heady, cascaded as she waved to him,
that metal contraption taking her away, but in his arms
she’ll stay forever in his dreams and lengthy nightmares.
Come back,
come back to me.

Poem, Day 18

Are those stars I see,
or am I just lost in memories?
Your face,
upturned,
once looked lost in them
as their illumination
illuminated all the solutions to the worlds’ problems.
Once dew danced on untucked wisps of hair
left forgotten in the waltz
of solar systems.
Sunlight paled
when you stepped on the sidewalk,
accompanied by your purse
full of piano keys
and petals from tulips,
leaving trails
so the cats would follow you home.

But your fingers have turned brittle
and the keys in your purse
go untended.
The cats call out
their mourning cry
as the sun burns the blinds.
But the stars only shine
when you sing to them,
and the rain only falls
when you ask it to while you
will only paint portraits
of tragic Grecian heroines
with dew in their hair.

Poem, Day 17

What is perfection?
A pale leaf in spring?
A newborn foal taking its first step?
That 95% on the term paper
you stayed up all night to
perfect?

What is perfection?
The proper temperature on a cloudless summers day,
all thought of global warming aside.
The birds sing,
the waves crash in,
the sun block
flows.
The poem written on winter night,
rippling with passion and seeping warmth,
the poet’s tears mingle with the pencil lines,
her heart breaking, just right,
to woo him back to her bed.

The sweet burn of whiskey
as it scorches throats,
celebratory cries
of “congratulations, it’s a boy!”
The setting red and golden
as he,
or she, or they, close their eyes
and wish for perfection.

What is perfection?
The sound of metal on stone.
the rattle snake, tell-tale call of metal laden redemption.

Slamming into another’s body.
The spectacle that is celebrity
fallen, dashed upon Hollywood Boulevard
(at least it’s not me).
The sight of infomercials laced with champagne ads
asking, pleading, begging for a dollar,
we change the channel.
White-Westerners traipsing through.

Jet lined whiteness crisscrossing sky-blue,
exhaust clouds hanging over small towns
in long weekends,
serrated knives slowly committing
environmental murder.

Innocence stripped away,
young girls’ lives stopped,
voices hoarse and fingers worn,
threads bare and clothes tattered,
hunched over last nights’ leftovers
forgotten, lost.
Rib cage protruding,
esophagus burning,
seeing only perfection in imperfection,
she’s perfectly, unnaturally, not good enough.

Her breasts sag,
her pants stretch,
knowing perfection only behind closed doors
and plus sizes.
Cringing from the mirror,
she whispers that, maybe this time,
she won’t feel ashamed when she buys groceries.
Envying starving girls
who envy starving girls,
not sure enough in themselves
they dig nails into flesh
and drag down
knowing only perfection in covered mirrors
and chat rooms.

Poem, Day 16

{I don't care if it's crap. The motto is Write in April, Revise in May.)

I wish I could
look beautiful clothed in a
back bra and underwear.
I wish I didn’t
cringe so much when I
look into mirrors.
I wish I didn’t
cover my face in
5 layers of coverup.
I wish I was
somebody, anybody
but my body.

I wish I could
speak my mind with out
hiding behind pen names.
I wish I was
sure enough in myself
to try.
I wish I was
confident enough to know
when not to.
I wish I could
see the truth in
what others tell me.

Today and tomorrow.

I still have the flu, so I don't know if I'll be able to post today...or tomorrow.
I have an exam tomorrow night and then another on Friday morning.
I'll make up for it, though.
God, I really do hate both my body and exams.

In the meantime, enjoy this poem that I love so very much.
It's Ms. Jeanann Verlee, my poetic heroine.

Poem, Day 15

{I'm pretty proud of this one, if only because today I've been dealing with a stomach flu/24hour flu (or so I hope it's only 24hrs, as I have exams to study for and got NO work done today, so I'm pretty pissed in that regard). Anyway, I've been in immense pain, stomach-wise, all day, so I slept. Overslept, and gave myself a migraine. The headache's still there (a bit), and I'm still a tad queasy, but I think I'm getting better. But, yeesh, how on earth did I even manage to scrawl out ANYthing. Go me!}

I need you
to tie my shoes
when the rain pours
on the tarnished daffodils.
To kiss the raindrops
that glide down
my sleek, unwashed hair
and the jasmine-kissed apples
of my cheeks.
To help me forget
why we’re standing
on each others’ feet,
crouched under a window
in the dead of night,
shimmying the frame open,
just a touch,
to smell the cherry pie inside.

Poem, Day 14

Amid the bird-chatter
and the heavy traffic
lies silence.
It’s hidden under rocks
and burrowed ‘tween tree roots.
You need a shovel
to dig it out,
a shovel of solid gold
and lambs wool.
I’ve yet to find
such an instrument of salvation.

Poem, Day 13

Are you sleeping
with the light on?
Forever-bright night-light
left to warm the chilled air
of your open-windowed
room.
Monsters lurk in the shadows
of closets and befuddled minds,
in the souls of troubled teens
and the eyes of haunted lovers
who lost their one-true-love.
Are you reading
tales of romance
and lost loves?

Tomorrow

I have a massive migraine and only half of a poem done, dear blog. I'll have to update tomorrow. ):

Poem, Day 12

Polyester stretches
against rolls,
pounds and curves smothered
in layers of cotton-blend,
trying to strangle the life
out of them.
Trying,
but failing,
to dress up the flaws
until the rolls seem more
like “love handles”
and the pounds
are mere millimeters.

It doesn’t work.

And you wonder why
I haven’t bought new clothes
in four and a half months.

Poem, Day 11

{Sorry it's late, dear blog. My mom and sister came down yesterday and I didn't get a chance to post. I'll back date it, though, so it doesn't look like cheating...even if it is... ;D }

The dog’s crying,
tied up to the post.
Wind buffeting
the weathervane
as the snowdrops
lower their heads
in shame.
Promising spring
in zero-degrees.
How dare you?!

Poem, Day 10

{This would have been in earlier (like, three and a half hours earlier) if my computer wasn't being a complete douche. As it is, I'm surprised it's working now.}

She left fingerprints
on his soul
as she scurried out the front door
and into the shadow.
His time was left
in wonders
of why and how
she had stolen his heart.
She left imprints
on his wrists
as she held on tight
to his throbbing veins,
willing him back to life.
His heart was left
in mystery
and painful memories
of the last person
who held his hand
under the weeping starlight,
on that night under the moon,
a thousand wishes away.
That night,
when all nightingales sang mournful songs
of girls who scurried into shadows
and left boys with
broken hearts.

Poem, Day 9

Refracted mirror pieces
send light abounding
in any and all directions.
He's waiting in dark alleyways
and broken photo streams
to save her life.
With a subtle pull,
she's under,
casting her worries
towards her feet
as she plummets
headfirst
into love.
She's waiting in dark dreamways
and broken wishing wells
for him
to become real.

Poem, Day 8

Raised edges
of frosted letters.
Spring sun
streaks through
old, dusty windows.
It's snowing on the page,
glitter and non-organic
white flakes.
The lines tell me
to experiment,
but I'm far too terrified
to put a toe outside
the line.

Poem, Day 7

I have lived my life
on the edges
of cracked crevices,
spending countless minutes
trying not to fall in.
Fingers wave,
tempting me forward
as the tide of emotions
rolls in, lapping
at my heels.

It carries a beachcombers dream
of harsh whispers and
elephant wishes,
of fairy confessions of lust
and flower petals scorched black
by the sun.

Sand is faulty.
The edges of the crevice
grow, crawl towards me.
Ever closer.

Wishes and whispers are faulty.
I need elephant-strength
to pull me out.

Poem, Day 6

Do you remember November?
The wild nights of rain,
fallen branches
on fallen chances,
told never to love again.

Do you remember November?
Forgotten pages left strewn
across damp lawns,
white as lost swans
who flew away in the afternoon.

Do you remember November?
Whispered tears on lips
left to dry up
in my empty teacup,
as my tongue traced your fingertips.

Unfortunately...

...London did dick-all in comparrison.
Go Toronto! Show the rest of Canada why you're so much better than them. 'Cause, really, even if I hate cities, you're up there on my list of "Cities I can Tolerate", if only because you did what you set out to do.

Poem, Day 5

I know.
I try to ignore it
too.

pushing pounds
up stairwells,
ankles hurting,
feet hurting,
ego hurting,
head hurting.
I sort of think
you’re watching me
as I attempt the
impossible:
climbing 3 flights of stairs
non-stop,
without the huffing,
the puffing.
I sort of know
you’re disgusted by me.
please, then,
forgive the way
my stomach quivers as I laugh,
my breath comes in short huffs
after I walk up the hill,
my eyes glow in the presence of friends and,
sometimes,
food.
the way my chin(s) jiggle as I speak,
the way my breasts
(42 Gs)
bounce as I strut.
forgive my grotesqueness.
I truly don’t mean to offend.

do you really think I like being this way?
that I’m fat for the soul purpose
of garnering stares, pity, disgust, hate from others?

don’t you think I know it’s my own fault?

you don’t hear me apologizing,
in my head,
daily,
for my weight.

you don’t hear me cry about it all
when I’m home alone.

Poem, Day 4

Veils wisp in spring winds
as feet are set the task
of traipsing across
worn grass.
Face glowing in the aftermath
of some joke I cannot fathom,
long strides pulling you across
the intersection.
People stop.
Your laugh
is like pure honey.
People stare
out car windows.

"Veiled"
does not mean she must be
silent.
Does not mean she cannot laugh.
Or smile
like the sun.

Ahead of you
a young man
pulls at your attention
with kind words and smiles
and an air of forgotten prejudice.
Your turquoise-fabric
swirls around your legs
as the grass clings
to your feet.
Caramel skin warmed
and glowing
by the finally present sun
on this hopefully-it’s-spring-now
afternoon.

People stop.
People stare.

I stop,
I stare,
I smile at your joy.

I still don’t understand
how anyone
could not be wrapped up
in your smile of sunlight.

Oooor not...

Okay, so I tried.
I tried thinking about writing 3 poems in one night. And then I failed. So let's just pretend the last 3 "poems" I posted here (whatever they may be, and at whatever level of crap they may be at) count. Because it's 2:07am and I'm not in the mood right now. And the back of my throat/tongue feels swollen and it feels like I'm constantly, slowly choking. Which is annoying. It feels like I took one of my migraine meds, which I didn't.

So, assuming I don't choke to death tonight (oh fuck, jinxed myself there) then I'll write/post some real "poems" tomorrow.




PS. I refer to them as "poems" (with the quotation marks) because I have no self-respect of feelings of self-worth so I'm convinced ever single thing I write is extreme crap. The end! ;)

"NaPoWriMo" rolls off the tongue better than "NaNoWriMo", so THERE! D:<

I just learned of NaPoWriMo.
Which is way better than NaNoWriMo. End of discussion. No arguing here. Bah!

Anyway, it started on the 1st and, had I been aware, I would have started then. As it is, I'm 3 days late, but I still want to do it. I mean, my favorite poet is, so I think I might jump on board. And by "on board" I don't mean that I'm going to be posting on their boards since, as I've already mentioned, I've missed the first 3 days. Maybe I'll post next year.
This year, though, I'm going to try it for myself and through my own means. Eg. this blog.
So...I'm going to write 3 poems tonight to make up for the four days I've missed.
But first I have to post this and restart my computer because it seems to be having a freakin' spaz attack every few minutes and such...damn thing.
It only needs to last one more year! D:
Okay then, time to post and reboot. :)