A Poem About WordsA Word on WordsMore Like This
I’ve never been very good with words.
I spend so much time searching for the right ones,
For that one perfect phrase to describe a feeling.
Slippery as a sunfish it incessantly escapes me,
Or gets hooked upon my lip.
It’s difficult to say what I mean,
Let alone mean what I say.
And words make it so much harder;
Ineffectual, impersonal and imprecise as they are.
I might say I love a steaming pot of tea in the morning,
Or a big cozy sweater on a winter’s day.
But sweaters and tea don’t quite add up to how I feel about you.
You might say a rose is pretty,
Or a sunset.
But I am hardly a flower or a sinking star.
I wish there were a way to pinpoint these feelings,
To let you know exactly what they are.
Instead I tread water futilely,
Drowning in the vagueness of language;
I simply choose silence.
Perhaps worst of all about words,
Is that they can lose their luster so devastatingly quickly.
I want meaning to permeate time; to last forever
Dear YouDear YouMore Like This
You are a hurricane.
You are a volcano.
You are a flurry of beautiful violence;
A plume of volcanic ash cast into the sky.
You are all the voices of the world;
A scream and a whisper and a sigh.
You are the beauty of the earth;
An exquisite wildfire, divine in its destruction.
And you are so strong.
You are stronger than this weight on your shoulders,
You are stronger than this emptiness in your chest,
You are stronger than all these things that dare get in your way.
You will charge past these things;
These regrets, these desires, these insecurities.
You will get through every pitfall and mistake and slipup,
And you’ll be made better for it.
You are unbeatable, unconquerable and unstoppable.
Every obstacle, an opportunity,
Every failure, a lesson.
You will beat this because you are better than this.
You will beat this because you are you.
And that is a powerful thing.
Sometimes I Lose ThingsSometimes I lose things.More Like This
Sometimes it's little things.
Things like my ipod or my keys.
Bobby pins and chapsticks often evanesce without warning or cause.
Sometimes I lose bigger things.
Things like my favorite sweater or my school bag.
Things like the reason I came into a room,
Or the memories of what I had for breakfast that morning.
Sometimes I lose my train of thought, or the point I was trying to make or an idea.
Sometimes I lose arguments.
Sometimes I lose friends.
I like to think all the things I lose go to the same place.
A plain white place full of hair ties and dollar store bracelets,
And I like to think they all wait there, patiently.
Wait there to be found.
One day I lost my passion.
It floated away like a helium balloon drifting toward the sun.
But I couldn't let it go.
I chased it into the sky,
Past the moon and the stars and the milky-way,
I followed it into the white place,
I faced a sea of bobby pins and hair ties and chap-sticks.
I faced all those lost arguments and id