Another one I came up with on the spot

~ 

falling,

falling, 

down,

down,

down,

falling for you,

i fell in love.

after a long, long period of bliss,

i finally reached the bottom, a cold stone floor,

and i broke into pieces like glass.

it'll take a while to pick all of my pieces, maybe some of them I'll never find

and you'll keep those for yourself.

As I try to pick them up, my fingers bleed,

warm and painful like your kiss.

until i find my way up, i think I'll stay here for a while.  

*nefarious laughter* I've been searching for a new topic, and voilà! After a full day of tortured-artist-style pondering,   I have been struck by inspiration! *shady cackling resumes* 

~~~~~~~~~

Ya' know, today when I

Caught a glimpse of my shoulder 

I was shocked to find there a budding flower;

Beneath my porcelain skin

Bloomed the most beautiful shade

Of reddish-violet I do believe I've ever seen.

Just sitting there, looking like

A summer's dusk, when half the rainbow's

Faded, lost it's scarlet, orangey, sunset blush

And without mixed, yellow-green 

watercolour-tainted water and minus the

Murky blue ink that will inevitably show up later,

There she sat, in that lovely colour,

Fleeting as cherry blossoms, soon to lose 

all her signature dainty pink and purple splendor;

And though I know it'll soon slip away 

Much like fallen snowflakes on a sunny day

I simply can't help but to admire 

This tiny mark, my very own pretty little briar.

When nothing else about me 

looks how I wish it would: 

Hair too curly; frizzy without its younger golden gleam, unsure

Of what to be, so settling on muddy straw, so it would seem;

Eyes, too, so darn indecisive,

can't choose whether they match

The sea, or amethysts, or grass, 

or an owl's, or the sky, or perhaps just a mud patch.

All the while, features: sharp but slightly too rounded,

are still not cute; plain frustrating, to be compounded.

Thus, it amazes me that that blossom of such a lovely shade

Can from my own skin and broken vessels at any time be made.

she / brown eyes and long hair / foot against the wall and her chair tipping back / no stars left in her pockets 

she stares / the ceiling's old / her questions are too / smells stale & lonely / purple bags under her eyes

"there is no sky up there" 

she / knowing the ground far too well

"i wonder if there will be night when there is no sky"

bare feet / blisters / heart all bruised, sore blood in her veins / tired / paper lips / cough that makes her lungs rattle in her ribs / soul all withered

"no one ever told me what the world was called when there was no sky"

"no one ever told me the sky can die" 

the curve of the milky crescent moon is my home

from here i watch the stars wither but i also witness their birth

this galactical home isn't very different from an earthly one;

a little vast, a little lonely, a little beautiful. 

~~Two poems in one night, if you can believe it! 

summer 

i. remember the summer. remember all the things we did and hold the memories tenderly like shards of sea glass in the hands of your heart. remember the beginning, the freedom, the lake. i jumped off the pier. you took my wet hand and pulled me up by the arm your skin sending lighting waves through mine. feeling of being young and reckless and wild; we walked barefoot through the city streets and sat on sun baked rocks. we flew not gently like birds but violently like the wind—we were always in the wind and of the wind on the lake, until we fell into the water and then it consumed us and we became it and we were laughing and happy. we talked of things that blossomed as a fruit of our collective garden minds. the nights were long and wild and as they should be. we always danced in the kitchen in the mornings. 

ii. remember midsummer. remember honey baked afternoons with a side of island-cruise colored water, hungover in that thick summer haze, but the only liquor we were drinking was youth. remember the all of together again, all of us running wild. they shut down the party; we built our own. blur of days and nights, we all lived in the same house; indistinguishable from relation or not, we could all be family for all we’d notice. riotous nights and the wildest afternoons, screaming in the night with some primal force too intrinsic for words. we didn’t care what the neighbors heard. bright eyes, goosebumps on our bare skin, we watched shooting stars above brazen campfire smoke. the wild days passed somewhere outside of time. we stayed up late at night talking. we grew close to the beat of the songs that tied our souls together in the dark before we had time to realize it. you told me to stand on your shoulders and i did and you put me in a tree and i dangled alone along with my hopes. the days after we got sick we all lazed sprawled on beat-up sofas and shag-carpet floors, those days blurring together into a slow murky sludge of hebitude, stagnating in our own lethargy. even then, we always danced in the kitchen in the mornings. 

iii. remember autumn. remember brisk october when the world smelled of pumpkin colored repose and longing and restlessness. the restlessness was mine. those days, the autumn ones, went by especially quickly like the october winds blew them away. our wildness and freedom died with the summer, replaced by the grating weight of responsibility and dread upon our too-old souls; we couldn’t banish it so we battled deadlines and backlogs together. your cheekbones distracting me was both for the worse and the better. you talked to me about things i never cared about before; now i listened to you like i listened to the songs you showed me. were you making up for lost time? lost time is always the dilemma with me just like the dilemma with summer is that the free wildness always dies when the suffocating heat does. and the dilemma with autumn is the free air only comes when the suffocating weight does.

still, we always danced in the kitchen in the mornings. 

iv. this is why, and how, you must always remember summer.