Ever After

This one is  about blaming yourself for someone else's moods and for how badly they treat you. I ran with a fairy tale theme on this one because I think it's kind of fitting, the idea that someone is "prince charming" and treats you like a princess before they start to show their true colours.

It started with a "once upon a time",

with the fairy tale prince who swept you off your feet

when you least expected it.

But that fairy tale didn't last,

and your Cinderella story turned to ashes in your mouth

as he stole your words,

controlled your feelings,

took your "happily ever after"

and turned it upside down.

He tied your happiness so closely to his

you didn't know which feelings were yours.

He made himself the only person you could talk to,

pulled you back together

after tearing you apart,

then reminded you why it was all your fault.

You.

The reason he lost control

and the reason it never felt like he cared.

You made him do that.

It wasn't the prince who was rotten from the start;

it was you who ruined him.

You fed him the poisoned apple,

forced him to take a bite.

You entranced Prince Charming with your glass slippers,

but those have long since broken.

And with the stroke of midnight you lost so much more.

Your love wasn't enough

for him to treat you like a princess.

Your love wasn't enough

to keep away the pain.

And you kept telling yourself that

his love was enough.

So you treated him like a prince.

His love was enough

to make up for the pain.

And though you cried yourself to sleep

you told yourself you were happy

ever

after.

6 Feet Under

For context, I work in a graveyard, and found out this summer that coffins tend to shift around when the frost thaws in the spring, sometimes ending up in the wrong plot or placed such that they inhibit a new coffin from being put in an empty plot. This sonnet came out of that. I don't think it's technically correct in form, but I was fooling around a bit with the location of line breaks in the middle of sentences rather than at the end.

In the springtime thaw, coffins start to slide
through a gruesome dance, the six-feet-under
tango; their bodies, long since cold inside,
leave disturbed grave sites, all torn asunder.

Each day, as new shoots push stubbornly through
hard ground, the bodies start to play their cruel
tricks, creating grief in burials moved
as they steal new plots, in a twisted duel.

Even after death, they have a wide reach
sowing seeds of sorrow in families
with loved ones displaced, chaos formed from peace
of death, confusion mixed with tragedy.

Slowly, the surface shifts and soft soils slide,
Beneath it all, the graveyard is alive.

Green Grass Grows

This piece was actually not what I expected it to be. I had a particular line that I was trying to write around, and started this poem only to realize that the line in question didn't fit, but I liked the overall feel anyway.

Green grass grows thick and lush

beneath blue skies and wisps of cloud.

A murder of crows takes flight, startled by the sound

of a shovel, dug into hard ground.

A whistled, cheerful tune fills the air

along clouds of breath in the early morning chill.

Beside him, his wife's wide eyes take it all in.

Breath catches with exertion.

A perfect day, peace

broken only by the rhythmic sound of the shovel.

An even pace,

no rush, no worry.

Dappled sunlight, through the trees,

bathes her face in a warm glow.

He smiles, content now, at peace.

Her features, still, as though chiseled in cold stone,

give him strength as he begins to tire.

Soft smell of peat reaches his nose,

organic and full.

His work complete, he grows calm and still

as he cradles her in his arms,

lays her down and covers her up.

He leaves with the memories,

of the best and worst of times,

of the things he had to do

to keep his vows.

His footprints,

and the soft mound of earth

are all that remain.

Your Place

This piece came out of watching the introduction to a poem by Sarah Kay (this poem, which is awesome: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f-8jtBOorpE), which she said was inspired by the line "... Everyone needs a place. It shouldn't be inside of someone else.", from "Detail of the Woods" by Richard Siken. As soon as she said this line, I paused the video and wrote this poem. It's sort of written to a friend of mine, and came out of an hour spent thinking while weeding at work today. It took the one line of inspiration to knock everything together in my head.

Your place is not inside of me.

I am not your home,

your haven,

your safe space.

I cannot be the white knight

who saves you from yourself.

You've tried to burrow deep,

to find yourself within me;

you've used me on your way

to self-discovery.

Your place is not inside of me.

You cannot use me

to deposit your emotions

when they grow too much for you,

can't let the overflow of pain

seep under my skin

and pool between the beatings of my heart.

I can't take all the parts of yourself that you hate.

Your place is somewhere else,

somewhere only you can find.

Your place is somewhere you'll feel safe,

where you can be yourself,

and feel everything you need to feel

to get yourself through this.

But that place is not here,

it is not me.

I can't protect you forever.

I need to let go of you,

and you need to let go of me.

Innocence Lost

Not a lot of commentary on this piece. It sort of just came together when I got home from work today. I was experimenting a bit on this one with repetition of words / phrases, though I didn't realize I was doing it until I was part way through the piece, and then did so intentionally after that.

It started in the first grade

when we learned to swear

on the bus ride into school.

When the word "it" elicited hushed laughter

on the playground.

When we found used condoms on the side of the road

on the way to a sleepover.

When young eyes grew wide in health class

as we soaked up this new knowledge of ourselves.

When we realized just how much life isn't fair,

that our grandparents were getting old and frail,

that our parents didn't have all the answers.

Innocence lost

in a moment,

in every moment.

In all the times we said "I love you"

without knowing what it meant.

In all the times we lied and cheated

to our friends and to ourselves.

In all the times we really saw through

the world we built up in our childhood,

where wars didn't happen outside the playground,

and people were only mean to us because they liked us.

Innocence lost

when we realize that everything won't magically be ok tomorrow,

when we see who really has our backs

and we realize the number is lower than we thought.

When we think we've finally made it through

only to get knocked down again.

When we realize that we are all the things we saw in our parents

that we swore we'd never be,

and we're raising our children

to be just like us.

Six Word Stories

These are probably the most difficult thing I've tried to write because I am a very wordy person and I am terrible at cramming a story into just six words. These are my best attempts so far.

Her last phone call home: voicemail.

Clutching the pregnancy test, she smiled.

"I need hugs", the python thought.

Headline: Vegetables Feel Pain, Scientists Discover.

Lullabies

It's been a while since I've posted because I've been working on some longer pieces and editing is taking a while. In the meantime, since I'm working on posting more regularly, here is a poem I wrote ages ago. This started off with a second verse but I realized that I never quite figured out what to do with it, and I think it works off better without it.

I thought I saw your face today. You were

sitting by the brook singing

lullabies to the frogs and wearing that

mysterious smile of yours,

the one that always made me wonder 

what secrets you were hiding.

But when I tried to speak, you frowned

as though you didn't understand.

And when I tried to touch you,

you were gone.