Tag: new poets society

She was always so animated when she talked. You could stare at her for hours, observing the way she used her hands when she was excited, or how her eyebrows would furrow and wrinkle when she was deep in thought. Her face was a poem you knew by heart.

But her eyes– there was something about her eyes– the way they darted and fluttered like a bird, never landing anywhere for more than a few seconds. Never finding home. Always wary of settling anyplace for too long– as though if you had a second to look into them you might see pain you’d never noticed before; and if she looked into yours, she might see love and not know what to do with it.

please don’t look me in the eyes

She knows she is a diamond– she is not waiting for you to tell her so. She is simply waiting for you to realize it yourself.

love yourself first so you can understand how much you truly deserve

This Is Me

for flamecoloredskies ❤ 

vowels and consonants
will never quite fit properly into
my soul: my musings, my
passions. 
and as much as poems sing
truth, they will always skip
some notes– the ones we have not 
learned to write down yet.
it is scary, having
things inside you you don’t know
how to set free. 

so sometimes i close
my eyes 
and let my hands dance to 
the songs in my mind. and
when you look at the canvas,
you will see me
in the brushstrokes. i will see
a map of my mind, no longer
overlapping streets but
routes to places inside
i’d never figured out how to give
others directions to. 

i am hollow until
i give myself to a canvas or a song 
and let the pieces of me make sense
of themselves. 
then we can look at 
them and understand. 

No Sympathy For The Devil

My blood is too thick 
for Nevada. I’ve never been
able to properly explain myself 
in this climate– always thinking
that just behind some narrow door in
all my favorite bars, 
men in red woolen shirts are
getting incredible kicks from things
I’ll never know. 

I know
these people in my goddamn 
blood, though. Won’t be long now before
they tear me to shreds. 
Too weird to live, too weird to die–
just another freak, in the
freak kingdom, humping
the American dream. Never able to
accept the notion that
you can get a lot higher without drugs
than with them. 

But with the right kind
of eyes, you can almost see
the high-water mark– that place
where the wave finally 
broke and rolled back, 
that sense of inevitable victory
over the forces of
old and evil, 
whatever it meant.