Limited

Do me a favor and don't read anything into these next three poems, please and thank you :)

Limited

I’ve always wondered

how far I could be

pushed, stretched

pained,

before broken

I haven’t experienced

much of suffering

but I think

I’m always closer to

finding out

finding answers

finding refuge

in what? in safety?

no, not really, more

in living precariously

stupidly

with reckless abandon

I haven’t been

broken yet and I

can’t be touched because

I’m not all here

anyway

so why not push

an invisible limit?

Sun Burn

Sun Burn

once upon a sunny

day, I wandered

into a dreary wood

filled by shadows of

towering trees who impose

themselves as a blanket

knit

to allow minimal

sun light, for if

too bright the

wood wouldn’t—

well, mightn’t—

be dark

dull, senses thrown

carelessly and hopelessly

into the umbra

along with feelings

which matter very

little or

very much depending

on their effect

but they’re safe

in this dreary wood,

those feelings

deemed unbecoming

eventually I meander home

with a masking smile gleaming in

sun light, leaving the

rainy forest and

imperfect feelings behind

and lest someone infinitely

brighter than I can

burn my dreary wood

and its hidings

with their sun light

I’ll return another day

Pax

Pax

she sits small and tensed,

with thoughts stretching

her face a million

unflattering directions before she

settles on a smile

though her body remains

tight, she allows

the thoughts stretching

her face in the

painful manner to

extract

release

shatter

her heart into itsy-bitsy pieces

and each smote heart

piece flies to someone

new, someone who needs

it more or more likely—

she can’t

she doesn’t want

to say

one sparkly heart

piece shines within

her though—one only her own

but these that have

been sent to others

attach

cling

pull

her closer, lulling her into a

false sense of loving security

if she is completely

honest with herself,

 she recognizes the

broken heart

disguised as empathy

she recognizes an inversely

parasitic relationship

if the world’s hearts’

break, shattering and being

sent to those they love, then from

ruin comes transformation—

new conglomerate hearts

but if not

if the world keeps

their hearts attached

and in peace and not

in pieces

she is just the girl

with the sharp, sparkling, shattered

and quickly dulling

heart piece

Feel Free

Feel Free

dark, hidden

something to be

shielded

not necessarily

though, secretive

just needing

protection

why? because

they say so,

but that isn’t

really a good answer

things like these

weren’t made to

 be hidden from

the world

feelings tuckered out

and tucked away

are pointless

set them free,

forget safety

just for a minute

wear a heart on

your sleeve, but

not as an

accessory

safety will last

forever, but freedom

may not

Alter Ego

Alter Ego

bright lights

              lowered

velvet blindfold

              lowered

and yet, each

lower brings anticipation

higher

the blindfold tears

at its center

only to reveal a

dark abyss

dim, lighter, light

twinkling eyes and

bright smiles allude

to heavy expectation

beat, pound faster

says heart—

it does

music wavers through

timid air and

all is understood

     stop thinking

smile

arms—one,

             feet—two,

pointe now, then

not, but put faith

in technique

dance for myself,

perform for the

night sky audience

let music play

 puppeteer, thinking

has ceased, and

I’m wear I

belong

yet there is

no way this

is me

Jump and Fall

Jump and Fall

tired feet gingerly succeed

each other, side

step to avoid

words and the

inevitable

back away slowly

let the joy die

down before you’re

too close and

too attached

because what else

could happen except

getting hurt

              lifted

              dropped

Blind Two-fold

Blind Two-fold

gossamer thread weaves a
reflective bandana
covering my eyes

it sparkles and glitters and
paints a pretty picture for
onlookers but
blocks me from
understanding things

my blindfold reflects
the world back at
itself, showing people
only what they
want to see

but immunity is
held by
the beholder

it’s protection from the
things that don’t really
need to be understood

or the things beyond
rationalization

because watching the
earth turn in despair
doesn’t help anyone

and I know that the
confused glances fall
over and towards my
eyes frequently

gossamer thread isn’t translucent
but there are some
things eyes aren’t
needed to see

Painters

I wrote this poem after my Latin exam:)

Painters

quietly sit as

we wait our turn

to be free

          gone

          away

at a table covered

in paint, well—

splatters of colors

like someone

forgot

to continue

surrounded by people covered

in dark clothes, warm clothes

but for a few, still

all are drops of colors

who have not yet

forgotten

to continue

soon a bell will

ring, the time will

be now and

the splatters of colors

will paint

a new picture or

perhaps a mural

on a table like

world as they

run, brushes sliding

over the world’s surface

until they are free

                         gone

                         away

except someone scrapes

the dry splatters of

colorful paint off

the table

because she’s bored

or worse

the paint is

messy

as flecks and specks

of old paint

crumble over the hard floor

the free, gone, away

will also

but perhaps only

if we allow it

fluid paint will cover

 the world in color

for  as long as possible

they  vow to never

dry up

for some reason,

they forget to continue, but

if they meet water

before a bored child

or one who sees them as

messy,

there might be hope

Listening

I wrote this after my orchestra exam :)

Listening

listen very closely and
the breath of nature

will cover your ears

from violent tyrants like

thunderstorms who

steal its voice

occasionally

for a different kind

of peace

         the kind where

you cannot hear

yourself think

and people seem to

like loud peace

more, for

reasons understandable

the best things come in

small packages

meaningful thoughts packed into

a unique song of the

wind

quiet peace filled by

wind songs

the peace

which people fear

for while the tyranny

of violent storms

horrify all for their duration

the only thing left

in the aftermath is

the peaceful, haunting

song of the wind

Rose Colored Eyes

Because of this poem, I will probably have issues on my Latin midterm since I studied very minimalist-ly for it.

Rose Colored Eyes

if souls were visible

they would be telling

of the world and

life just might

make sense

if guardian angels could be seen

they world would have hope

                     would ask for help

and maybe having someone else

there to blame—innocent but uncaring— other than

each other would fix so many things

but for all the misery

the world inflicts

upon itself

it’s not willing

      not wishing

(it thinks not needing)

to see

souls in smiles that

glisten in lights or

in vacant eyes

like a shattered mirror

guardian angels in friends

holding a hand a second longer or

in that warm spring afternoon

that encloses a heart with safety

the world collectively doesn’t

understand understanding but

maybe a few do

for those who see souls and

guardian angels and

those who see real

in ethereal

the world is just a place

beautifully frightening through

their rose-colored eyes

because while the sight of

real guardian angels and souls

pull their hearts ever higher

the misery the world inflicts

upon itself tethers them

to a life surrounded by

the infinitely blinded

Detangle Her Troubles

This is just a poem I wrote in orchestra:)

Detangle Her Troubles (or, Like Sun on the Soul)

extremities extend

the line that

critical inch

             just a bit

             farther to

grasp hands

reach, flip, scan—done

pages fly under

eyes of an observant child

              an amused mother

hold close, closer for safety

emit warmth that lets

sun shine on the soul

palms encircled by one another

absorb a shock

              to ground

              to face

              to heart

run through hair

—freely, tenderly—

detangle like bristles the troubles

of a child

save the world

a child’s world

with hands

made for fixing

A Warm, Fragile Shield

I'm filling out an application for a cultural exchange, and they asked for some of our creative work...so I wrote this poem. If you could, I'd appreciate any critiques you have for me! Oh, and right now the title is "A Warm, Fragile Shield" but that can be changed, so let me know if you have another idea. Thanks :)



A head lifted high
—not haughty
Inner confidence pulled
taught; It is
a warm shield

A heart opened, but
searching still
for peace
     —friendship, happiness

A tensed flower
waiting to bloom,
waiting for the bright
sun’s shower of
light to fall
upon it

Another head thinking,
—not shy, but
hope, hope, hoping,
gently lifting; It is
a fragile shield

Another heart, too opened
for the same dreams,
wants, desires
searching still

But not still
a fearless butterfly
liltingly dancing through
soft air, before
landing precariously on
a tensed flower

Hearts and heads,
dreaming the same for
their same world,
saying so in different
languages

A fearless butterfly on a blossoming flower,
both supported by soft air, with
warm sunlight raining down

The dewdrops of light
cover them like hope and confidence;
They are the warm, fragile
shield called friendship