Creative Writing, Poetry

Poetry: Bloody Bullet

I tiptoe but you hear

me coming your way, it’s too late

for games, you say, it’s too late

to play. So I retreat

to my seat in the corner

where I am to be shamed

by your red words once more.

A bloody bullet you used before,

a bloody bullet off the un-swept floor

pointed directly at me,

so sullied, so dirty. I can’t help

it anymore than I can help myself

at this point. Stranded. Screaming,

pleading, bleeding, begging for you

not to pull that trigger again.

This is the end, you say,

it’s too late for games,

it’s too late to play.

It is time to pull the trigger,

to attack me with all you’ve got,

an old wound ripped open

that keeps me in my seat,

where I retreat when I try

to move us forward together

and you leave me to bleed out alone.

Creative Writing, Poetry

Poetry: What is love?

You stare and ask, “What is love?”

and I’m not quite sure how to reply.

I want to tell you it’s the chill

skipping down your spine

when the wind catches you hair

just so, or the way you let me

lay my tomato down on your plate,

unwanted décor from discarded

food. It’s more than that though.

It’s the way your teeth don’t quite

line up, the taste of morning coffee

on your breath, the calluses

on the palms of your hands, the way

my eyes look for you in places

even when I know you are not there,

the joke I choose to keep to myself

until I can whisper it in your ear,

the chest I rest my head on,  the ribs

I poke in an attempt to tickle

that always results in a claim of pain

I know you won’t hold against me.

Love is the way you try the food

I offer even when you don’t

want to comply, your smile

even when I get on your nerves,

the laugh that starts at your stomach

and works its way up your chest

to your throat and your lips,

all the way to your smile that meets

your eyes that are always there

to interlock with mine. It is having

someone to care about whether

they are here or far away,

a person to feel for, a person

to worry about, a person to kiss

all the pain away. Love is a hug

from arms that feel safe, a smile

from a best friend, a hand to hold

from a crush, a kiss from a lover,

and a person to hold in your heart

forever. I want to tell you all of that,

but I go in for a kiss and pull back,

slowly, to give you the best answer

I could possibly give: “Love is you.”

Creative Writing, Poetry

Poetry: Wanting Words

You get me to apologize

for not saying sorry before

when the words still held meaning

for you and your ego,

when your ears wanted words

and promises I couldn’t afford

to give you then,

and, as I try to pay you back,

I can already see the effect

my words no longer have

on your worn out ears

that only ever showed up here

because you love

to watch me squirm.

Creative Writing, Poetry

Poetry: Winter Love Affair

I push you away with such force

that I tell myself I have lost you for good,

but you know to give me space,

to stay out of my path long enough

for me to keep moving forward

and for you to prepare

for yet another sneak attack.

 

But you are so predictable.

You always return to me.

 

I let myself believe for a moment

that you really are pure. Blinded

by sparkles and lust I reach

for you once more, but you are cold,

so very cold, that I remember

all the reasons you and I

could never be together.

 

You are so predictable.

You always return to me.

 

This time there are screams

coming from deep inside me

and I shove you with all my might

until you fold and crumble off

into a soiled pile on the side

of the road every winter you dare

to get in the way, the winters

I am pulled out of my house

in order to plow you away.

 

But you are so predictable.

You always return to me.

Creative Writing, Poetry

Poetry: Our Demise

I don’t usually dedicate my poems, especially ones on my blog, but I am mixing it up this time. Someone who is very close to me is feeling some serious heartbreak right now, and I wrote this poem with her in mind. It has been a few months now, but the heartbreak is just as real as if it were yesterday. I want her to know that I feel that, and I want to help her through it.

As most people know, that is a hard task for anyone. So, I have taken to what I know best: writing. This is a poem about love just as much as it is a poem about loss, and I dedicate it to my beautiful friend. You are more than like a sister to me. <3

” ‘Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.” -Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Our Demise

I.

His eyes are wide with smiles, and I wonder how I am so lucky.

 

II.

I ask him what he sees in me.

He simply replies, “What others do not.”

 

III.

It is late one night when I say, “You feel like home.”

 

IV.

He tells me that I am beautiful today

and kisses me on the forehead.

My skin enters into a waltz I cannot control

but have no desire to wish away.

 

V.

I tell him he is my future, and he replies, “I’m okay with that.”

 

VI.

He stares at me quietly

and I feel the minutes wind

around my lungs and loop

themselves into a tingling hello

that precedes the words, “I love you.”

My insides do somersaults for days.

 

VII.

Everything is perfect until it is not.

 

VIII.

I ask him to open up to me,

but he keeps me in the dark.

Once again I hold his hand,

but I know I don’t have his heart.

 

IX.

His fingertips pull away, and I beg for them to come back.

 

X.

I catch him in a lie again and he knows

to say, “I’m sorry,” but he says nothing more.

 

XI.

His eyes are wide with miles, and I wait for goodbye.