Poetry Update: Him

This is the near-finished version of Him, which is the poem my highly-esteemed fellow poet suggested I continue to work on. So, of course, I did and this is what I have. Let me know of any thoughts, suggestions, etc. They are greatly appreciated.

Him

You and I are like

two sides of a coin

either way things land

only one of us wins

we are two sides

opposites

black and white,

and shades of gray

logic and knowledge,

and love and emotion

your weaknesses are

the monsters in your closet

no one knows about them except for you

at night they come out to play

but in the daylight
you lock them behind doors

of charisma and charm

humor and intellect

my weaknesses are
as vast and obvious

as the ocean

as necessary and terrifying

as the sea

but even in its weakest moments

a coin is still a coin

the opposing sides create the whole

So it turns out that me and you

We’re two sides

Of two very different coins

My mom warned me

About the bad boys

She said “all their words

Are just noise”

She taught me how

To spot them in a crowd

Spot them a mile off

And she would be so proud

Of how good I’ve gotten

At keeping them away

But she should’ve told me

About the good guys

The ones who discuss Monet

And the meaning of life and truth

Until you find yourself in love

Until I found myself in love

With you, one of the good guys

But we weren’t good

We were extraordinary

Launching ourselves up into

Lofty clouds of conversation

Like what will become of our generation?

What is love? and who is God?

But the fact that we never could answer

didn’t matter because He

Was always right there with us

In the endless coffee cups

And old book shops

Fancy dinners and late night walks

And after all this

We’d laugh our way back down to earth

I fell in love with how

I could see God reflected in your eyes

The way that life and intelligence

Flowed from your lips with such eloquence

The way our hands fit just right

Which was weird because

You aren’t quite my height

But we weren’t good to the end

Our death was a disaster

An ill-fated end as incredible

as our bewitching beginning

And after it I ran away faster

Than my heart could think

Because maybe if I got far enough away

The realization would never hit

But I forgot that

The further you get from home

The more people you meet

Who remind you of people back there

I keep running into

pieces of you everywhere

His hair, that kid’s walk

That stupid cardigan

The way he talks with his hands

And the high-brow jokes

and I wonder if it’s all a big hoax

some clever set-up

set up by the angels above

or maybe the devils below

because it means I can’t forget you

I cannot forget you

There are pieces of you

everywhere

And while you can never be

The worst part of my history

You are the best thing

That I ever regret

Poetry in Progress

These are all works in progress that I'm considering performing next Thursday at the poetry slam. Let me know which ones you like and what works about them!

*the lines are to show a break in the poem where some more material will eventually be added to help with the flow and message; the stars denote the end of one poem and the beginning of the next

The Best Worst Thing

You are

by far

the worst thing

that has ever happened 

to my poetry

You see,

I thought that 

if I could write you

a poem

well, then

you'd have to 

fall in love

with me

But it turns out
capturing someone's affection
is more difficult than
scooping fireflies into glass jars
and stringing some silly
self-indulgent rhymes together
so it's hardly worth the mention
and me?
I'm finding it hard to
even hold your attention
when I'm just a girl
writing a poem
about a boy
and who cares anyway, right?
because if it's not
scandalous or glamorous
why waste the time?
it wouldn't even make a good headline
Girl Likes Boy
that's old news
so I'm asking my muse
for some help here
a little bit of magic here
so that my words
might just catch your ear
but she just looks at me
with disgust like
"why are you wasting my time?"
she wants nothing to do
with my horrible lines like:
Rose are red, violets are blue
my poetry sucks
and it's all thanks to you

______________________

I’m caught in the

Unwavering guidelines

Of my own uncertainty

Because what if I say something wrong

What if I can’t be strong what if

I mess everything up what

If I’m not good enough

****************

Untitled

I frequently fall in love

With strangers on the sidewalk

________________

It’s the littlest things

The laughter in a smile

The sunshine in a laugh

Looking someone in the eyes

And seeing understanding there

That flows deeper than the sea

Walking beside them and

Feeling God in the quiet spaces

The echo of laugh lines

And eye crinkles
_________________

And most of the time,

All I want to do is write this down

And hand it out:

Check if you love me, check if you don’t

Check if you’ll date me, check if you won’t

Check if you’re genuine, check if you care

Check if you exist and then sign there

********************

Inspired by “Ego” by Rafael Casal (look it up, it's so good)

I went to have a chat with my soul today

____________________

I hear Insecurity whispering dark nothings

Of doubt and failure

And Expectaion is over there

Talking to responsibility again

They’ve been hanging out a lot lately

And is it just me

Or are those disappointed stares

Directed this way?

Ambition walks past me

Her head held high

Power-stomping by

In her power heels and power-suit

And Conscience is sick

She’s got a bad case of guilt

*******************

Him

You and I are like

two sides of a coin

you ruled by logic

and I by my emotions

you hate showing your weakness

so push away and pull back

push and pull

until it’s just you, hidden

my weaknesses are far

too easy to see

they flow down my face as tears

_____________________

But me and you

We’re two sides

Of two very different coins

_____________________

I fell in love with how

I could see God reflected in your eyes

The way that love and intelligence

Flowed from your lips with such eloquence

The way our hands

Fit just right

Which was weird because

You aren’t quite my height

_____________________

And I keep forgetting that

The further you get from home

The more people you meet

Who remind you of people

Back there

I keep running into

pieces of you everywhere

His hair, that kid’s walk

That stupid cardigan

The way he talks

with his hands

the high-brow jokes

and I wonder if it’s

all one big hoax

some clever set-up

set up by the angels above

or maybe the devils below

because it means

I can’t forget you

I cannot forget you

There are pieces of you

everywhere

The moon is gone tonight

It was there yesterday so

I can’t help but think that

It’s walking away from me

Back curved, eyes closed

Just like you did that night

_____________________

My mom warned me

About the bad boys

She taught me how

To spot them in a crowd,

Spot them a mile off

And she said

“honey, just not them”

But she should’ve told me

About the good guys

The ones who have

you laughably in love

With one sly grin

Who convince you

you can fly

but then take off

suddenly for the skies

leaving you behind

still flapping those wings

wondering why you can’t follow
___________________

(last line)

You are the best thing

That I ever regret

************

Untitled

Because a man’s not a man

Unless he’s a gentleman

But the problem is

Not many match that description

So men, I challenge you

To be better

But don’t accept that either

Be your best

And ladies, I challenge you to accept nothing less

Collaboration

So this idea popped into my head recently (mostly inspired by one of Mr. Tahmasian's recent posts) and I think it's brilliant. Here's the idea: I post the first stanza of my poem and then, in the comments, you guys continue to write it. It'll be our very own collaborative poem! Also, I just really need help writing this poem and some inspiration from you guys would be very helpful.

You are

by far

the worst thing

that has ever happened 

to my poetry

You see,

I thought that 

if I could write you

a poem

well, then

you'd have to 

fall in love

with me

additions (but not a finished product):


But it turns out
capturing someone's affection
is more difficult than
scooping fireflies into glass jars
and stringing some silly
self-indulgent rhymes together
so it's hardly worth the mention
and me?
I'm finding it hard to
even hold your attention
when I'm just a girl
writing a poem
about a boy
and who cares anyway, right?
because if it's not
scandalous or glamorous
why waste the time?
it wouldn't even make a good headline
Girl Likes Boy
that's old news
so I'm asking my muse
for some help here
a little bit of magic here
so that my words
might just catch your ear
but she just looks at me
with disgust like
"why are you wasting my time?"
she wants nothing to do
with my horrible lines like:
Rose are red, violets are blue
my poetry sucks
and it's all thanks to you

Messy

I'm taking a leaf out of M. Tahmasian's book here and just writing without worrying too much about editing, or having it make sense. It's getting back to the spirit of a freewrite - it doesn't matter if it's eloquent or even very sensical (if nonsensical is a word, how come sensical isn't?), it just matters that you write. Get it out. 

Sometimes I talk too much. A lot of the time I think too much.

I think about you a lot - far too much for someone who's supposed to be over you. But that's not right; I don't think about you too much, I feel you too much. You can erase someone from your mind, from your thoughts. Getting them out of your heart is another story. And that's just it. You're a story written on my heart and no matter how hard I try or what I use, I cannot erase or destroy you. Even if that was actually what I wanted. 

Because I don't want to forget you, I just want the memory of you not to sabotage me. Some days I'm happy you're gone; it's opened a place in my heart and mind for others. I've had a fire lit under me that is making me burn to connect with others, to find those that could be who I thought you were all along; friends, companions, confidants, lovers. All stable - constants in my life. That's what I'm really yearning for; constancy. Someone who can see who I really am, deep down into me and say, "yes, this is where I want to be - with you". Other days I see your name pop up on my computer screen and want to throw it across the room. Instead, I just mutter obscenities under my breath or list all the ways in which you were a disease in my life. It's these days that I realize how much my heart really hurts. Because on these days I know that, even with all the negative, I'd most likely jump at the opportunity to make things right again. These are the days when I know that I don't hate you; I'm just disappointed you turned into everything you said you'd never be. On these days I realize just how much I miss those moments. We don't remember days, we remember moments.

You should have opened your eyes - I was crazy for you.

How can you forget someone who gave you so much to remember? You're not very easy to forget.

Because Counting Crows will always remind me of you - his raspy voice sends me back to that sunny day in your car when I heard it for the first time. And Five For Fighting always makes me nostalgic and sad. And I couldn't tell you why, except that a song of theirs always seems to follow a Counting Crows song. But that's ok because most times I'd rather be somber than angry at you. And whenever I see a red Audi convertible, my hair remembers getting tangled by the lively wind, my lungs remember laughing until there was no air left, and my mind remembers racing with new ideas to consider and more significant looks to analyze. I can't think of LA without thinking of the day we spent on the beach, or southern Overland park without remembering all our old haunts. Art and coffee and broken curfews will always stir up memories of moments we shared.

With the memories come the tears. They walk hand-in-hand these days. I hope someday Tears will find someone else with whom to spend their time and I will be able to look back on these things with warmth in my heart. 

Saudade is a Portuguese word that describes the feeling of longing for something or someone that you love which is lost or in the past. Rather than being a verb, it is a noun and expresses a more intense state of emotion than the usual translation of "missing". It's a beautiful word and more eloquently describes that deeper feeling of "missing" someone. I hope that soon I won't understand it quite as well as I do these days.

You are not easy to forget.

I really enjoy the melancholy once and a while; it makes you think. And lately I find myself musing about love. Not too surprising, all things considered.

These days it's a different kind of thinking though. It's less frivolous, more wary. The idealism remains, perhaps foolishly, and the longing is still there - oh yes, the longing. But these things are kept closer to my heart, further from the contaminating fingers of the world. I still desire to give love and yearn to have that love be returned but I am sadder, more reserved. Perhaps I should teach myself how to be more cautious.

Here's the thing: I find it's really easy for me to fall for someone. I can identify in many some of the qualitites for which I'm searching. The trouble is getting them to fall for me, too. Because, you see, I'm just not the kind of girl guys fall in love with.

I wish finding someone to love you was easier. But, I guess, would it mean as much then?

Crushing

The French have this saying, "l'appel du vide".

It describes the feeling you get when standing on the edge of a cliff and have the unexplainable urge to jump.

That's kind of how I feel whenever I'm around you.

I want to drive you wild. I want you to look at me from across the room and be in awe. I want to swim in your brainwaves. I want you to slow dance with me in the sleepy hours of the night, breathing in the perfume of my skin and listening to the lullaby of my heartbeat. I want you to rescue me from my own destruction. I want to be vulnerable with you. I want you to sing me to sleep. I want to be your someone. I want to give you my love and be loved by you in return. I want you.

You're like the wind; free and gentle. I feel you close for a second and then you're gone, drifting away like a summer breeze. I want to get a glass jar and trap you inside, so you can't roam away, so you'll have to stay on my desk all the time or next to my pillow or in my bag when I go to class. It won't be a problem; I'll take good care of you, I promise. But that won't make you love me, will it?

Why do you tease me so? One moment you're smiling at me and talking to me and looking at me with that look in your eye that I can never define and the next you're brushing on by, leaving the hair standing up on my arms the only proof that you were even here. I feel so trapped between the earth and the sky when that happens. I turn into a dithering mess of emotions.

You're the wind and you know no bounds, you see no end to anything. And it's beautiful. But if you're the wind, how could you possibly love me?

You don't see yourself the way I do. You think you're awkward and unlovable and really kinda strange. But none of that is true; you just don't fit the stereotypical mold. That's what I love about you. You see your quirks as flaws; but are they really considered flaws if someone's in love with them? Cause I'm in love with your idiosyncrasies. It's not about your looks or how smart, cool or funny you are. You've got a heart of gold. That's all that matters. That's all I want.

I'm sorry I get attached so easily. I don't plan to, it just happens.

The End

So here I am, a heartbroken girl writing about lost love. I know, I know. How cliche. But I suppose I knew it had to happen sometime.

It appears you and I have reached our end. One who is less blind than I could have perhaps foretold this outcome, but I was to headstrong to consider the possibility. Nevertheless, we have come to a close, whether by your volition or mine, I cannot say. Our story is over, the book shut, the empty page to remain as such. All this I have come to realize, though probably not come to terms with, but I don't know if I will ever be able to understand or forgive your behavior.

I was so sure, so completely convinced that, no matter what happened, regardless of all obstacles life put in our path, you and I would have a whirlwind romance. The kind of affair that stands strong and unshakable in life, the kind that laughs at death's jealous attempts to separate. Our love would be talked about among our loved ones, read about in stories, seen portrayed in plays and on film. A romance that would leave its mark on the page of history, that would make the whole world stop and wonder. How could it not?

But maybe a love like that is only meant for times past and storybooks. Or perhaps, more honestly, a love like that was never meant for you and me. After all, love does not boast and is not proud or envious. And most of all, love never fails.

So maybe I didn't love you. Maybe I was simply captured in the foolish daydreams of a child, the imaginings of a hopeless romantic. But I thought I loved you. And maybe that's all that matters; it is certainly enough to cause a fragile, fanciful heart to break when the realization that it never will be comes crashing down.

I recently read Persuasion and couldn't help but wonder if, many years down the road you and I will realize that we were always meant to be together. But no, the lovers in the story had the blessing of someone separating them; we have only ourselves to blame.

I know that someday, someone will come along and sweep me off my feet and you will be banished from my mind, nothing but a bittersweet memory locked in the deep places of my heart. Or maybe a quieter love will conquer me; it will gently walk beside me and sweetly grasp my hand, the reassuring hold of an unassuming love. I look forward to those future days of love, or even simple infatuation. But until then I wait while my heart tries to heal that which may not be mendable. And I will learn how to live with you no longer being a part of m life. A new, independent me with a life full of possibility, free of what was and what could have been, looking only to what could and will be.

Chapter One; Or, Tongue-in-Cheek

I'm smart - a straight A student my whole life -, friendly, well-read, fairly creative and artistic, and have been known to have the occasional moment of witty genius, and I'm fat. Not morbidly obese like those hapless people you see on extreme makeover shows, but my chances of becoming any kind of model other than the plus-sized variety are impossible at best. You see, I was unfortunate enough to inherit the MacNeil genes in regard to my size. The MacNeil family is descendant from a clan from the brutal Scottish north and as such have a habit of producing tall, burly, strong men that, at least in the old days, chose similar women with whom to mate. After many years of this pattern, it came as no surprise when Shirley MacNeil produced four such Viking-esque children that grew to be men that averaged 6' 4" and 250 lbs. The second youngest of these offspring happens to be my father. And while he broke with the tradition and married a petite (at least by comparison) woman, my father ended up having three tall, strong sons. Oh, and me.

You see, rather than having the good sense to give me the Stranz family genes, which happen to be much slimmer and more suited to a female, God decided to saddle me with the MacNeil genes. Which mean I'm 5' 10" and have been struggling with being overweight since I was 10. Because, as everyone subconsciously knows, it's ok for boys to be heavier - they can play football, rugby or wrestle and are valued for their size. But a girl who's heavy? Yikes. There's no place for her.

Now, it's probably not fair for me to blame all of my weight issues on a poor choice by His Holiness when I was in the womb. I've always had a good appetite and an early discovery of my fondness for sweets and their power to solve all problems most definitely contributed to the crisis in which I currently find myself. All I'm saying is this: if He had seen fit to bless me with the slender figure and high metabolism of the Stranz clan, I doubt I'd be the disaster that I am.