Okay, so I liked Bluebird's idea of a "part 2," so, I guess this is to make up for not posting earlier. I might also change the name to jigsaw. What you think?

i grew more and more dedicated, this year

you might even say i was obsessed.

something inside me needed to see the picture,

neat seams where there once were

gaping holes in my understanding 

i was addicted to the

snap snap snap

of the correct pieces.

i tried thousands of different answers,

different pieces with different colors different shapes 

over and over again they refused to 

snap.

a jigsaw blade carved possibilities into my heart,

changing and changing until there was only

a scribble of jagged cuts,

a broken heart finally motivating the little pieces to

snap snap snap snap snap

unemotinally into the frame

my arms placing the edges against each other again and again

until i could only step back

and view my hated masterpiece with horrified eyes, tears welling

as no understanding dawned.

my hand reached out to trace the nonsensical lines,

trying to answer the infinite new questions

doomed to cycle in my head

trying and trying to make sense of the final picture,

f a i l i n g.

my hand stops trying to trace it,

stops remembering the years of hard work,

and it sweeps downward,

clearing my workspace for the first time

in as long as i can remember.

the cacaphony of snaps as it hits the ground is music--

i relish it.

a the while clasping the bigger mystery in my free hand:

the last piece.

but not really, because it didn't fit.

anywhere.

my piece doesn't even match, not that it matters anymore.

perhaps that's why i'm clutching it so tightly

it leaves an imprint in my soul,

perhaps that's why i can only study it,

sit here and wonder, and wonder again,

if someone else, far away,

is putting their own puzzle together,

wondering if they are waiting for me

for a piece of my piece's exact shape and color,

to come and

finally

snap

into place. 

AHHH. I'M SO BAD AT THIS. I haven't written poetry since, like, June, so I'm really out of practice and not proud of what I've come up with. Feedback is very much appreciated.

to char ( things i wonder about )

—— 

i see you, sometimes,

when i go to use the bathroom

in the middle of the night.

you’re there,

lying in the bathtub upside-down,

long legs thrown over the side and

toes brushing the tile floor.

your tear tracks drip up

instead of down,

reflected, crystalizing,

in the shining white tile,

marching across the walls,

splattered with

moonshine and

the green-glowing night light.

(i wonder if you’re

happy today.)

i, still half asleep, high on rem and wading through

the foggy bliss that comes with a

lack of clarity, try to say,

are you there?
i try to say,

are you okay?

but you are never there.

(and you are never okay.)

(i wonder if tonight is one of the

bad ones.)

you smile when you see me and you

have a boyfriend and he

kisses your cheek. he is my friend, too,

and he wears oversized army jackets and

handmade friendship bracelets

and loves the world

with all he has.

(but even he, who deserves it

the least, is sad too, and

hates the boy who beams brightly at him

from within the mirror.)

(i wonder how he’s doing

right now.)

he would never tell me

the truth

if i asked. nor would you.

once, i wouldn’t have needed to ask.

i knew you, once.

once i called you best friend and once

i stole your lunch and once

i was the one you told your secrets to.

(we both cut our hair off.)

once, we were kids, gap-toothed and

brace-faced, uncaring and silly and

passing notes and doodling

on the margins of our arithmetic homework.

we had not yet realized

how happy we were.

(snip, snip.)

once, i never knew about the

swiss army knife you keep in your drawer.

(i will never grow it back.) 

list of questions ii (growing pains)

why did i get upset when my aunt suggested that i don't always have to wear sneakers?

why do i fight with my mom every day?

will i always hate change?

do i hate it now?

what will being in my late teens feel like?

why do i feel the need to continue dumb arguments?

i purposefully say things cryptically so my parents won't understand 

and we'll have to fight. 

Why?

does watering dried-out plants help them?

why am i scared to carry a plastic baby?

can i be trusted to take care of anything? maybe a fish?

should i go back to therapy? (i only went twice. or was it 3 times?)

do i have anxiety?

do i like that everything is about growing up?

who do my teachers think they are, laughing at how it feel to grow up and pretending they understand?

am i afraid to try anything new?

why are there so many things i don't understand?

is it wrong that i like makeup?

who am i?

will you paint my face like a tiger?

I'm going to have to drop out, because I'm suddenly so busy with doing an 8th grade amount of work that I don't have time to write a poem each day (or even to just try to.) I might rejoin in a month or something, though.

Man, my poems are really dark this week. I think I'll write something positive right after-- feeling inspired!

creeping 

i wondered at the shadows creeping into the corners of

my mind 

i wondered what they were, (at the

very beginning-- before i knew anything, really)

i wondered why they were there,

why they were growing, like weeds suddenly multiplying,

i wondered what they would teach me,

what they had to say,

and i wondered why i kept listening 

why i let it plant its own seeds in my heart,

listening to the evasive whispers,

softer than velvet against my unsuspecting ears.

i wondered when it had gotten so big, 

when had it grown so--

that i couldn't see the end?

i wondered when it would give me more

give me more

give me more

i wondered why i couldn't say no to it,

why it could break any barrier i set,

how it ate the dwindling light so

i wondered when it had taken over,

if i would ever be free

i wondered why i was even trying, anymore, to escape, to wonder

and, last of all,

i wondered

what my life was like

before? 

inspired by novo amor

new love, in a dead language,

i'm taken to different places when i listen

this music is

dull teal, stick thin pines, a grey lake

i'm taken to new england forests

with decaying bridges

where i sit on the railings and 

watch the leaves float downstream

although the haze is melting

my body shrinks in size-

where i am

i will never be warm enough

to get up again

the sky 

reflects in the white-water

pale and grey

and the forest starts to 

die with the falling

mercury

where did all my ideas go? (a haiku about writer's block)

all my meaningful

words lost in oblivion

never written down 

I don't know what day it is, but if I got here in time, here's a poem for the category Questions:

~~~

wonderings

sometimes I wonder why the sky is blue;

sometimes I wonder 

Well, due to general business plus my own forgetfulness, I didn’t write anything this round. I’ll still vote, but after that I’m gonna have to drop out too, because I have a lot going on right now and I don’t have the time to write this much poetry, but I’ll probably rejoin when life is less busy.

TOP! I haven't decided yet, but I'll vote soon. Don't let this thread die!

I'm not sure why this just went and died, but I may feel like rejoining! If I'm going to vote, though, that's going to be really hard because these are all gorgeous poems!

Oof...hard choice but I think I'll vote for Vibrations, by Quill. 

Top this! I don't want it to die....TOP.