My Poetry for Sale

This is only a preview of 3 out of many poems.

Girl by Salina Fu | Make Your Own Book

Head Through the Ceiling

I became too comfortable

with the cold

and the snow, and

quiet ideals. You are not ideal.

You walked in through smoke screens

tripping over stricken land

a mirage of what shouldn't been.

Say something.

I sit on my high bed

striped purple sheets, remote controls

and empty bottles

eating my lemon poppy seed muffin.

Wondering,

whether you are wondering about me, too.

I don't love you.

I like you, but not quite

either.

Yet, somehow I

yearn for you.

I care whether you care.

Maybe, I do like you

like

that.

I don't like this, this

being alone

being sick

not having anyone

to try and

fix me

fix the broken

string

I'm scared.

Listening to The XX

makes me want to

watch things on

VCRs, again.

I wish I was home

in my mother's

arms. She has the

strongest shoulder I

know of, they will

not let me go, as

my body shake feverishly

and I sob

cover stories and

lies.

I am weak and

my soul diminishing

I don't know how

long

or

how much

time

until it heals or

rips

in

this basic space.

On The Trail of the First High

1)
Lucid dreams of major/minor despairs
You stretched to reach with your talon claws
Cry out baby sheep and take that leap
Movements, they set off paranoia
This dying state of frenzy is rather dire.
Tick Tock, Tick Tock the graying clock
screamed and moaned through time block
Sing to me, my dear nothings
But please keep that burning fire going
For soon, I will return and unlike this
It'll be similar to that first kiss.

2)
Sometimes I run with my arms out before me
I have no faith, in order to be
Longing has become the glimmering scales
that I shed as desired revival of
misplaced trust.
There's this hunger in the pit of my stomach
It's a darkened cave, where senses are off
and honesty is never really enough.
To strive for that mark of approval
has set me back light years of progress
like leaving school and missing recess.

3)
The painter, Max, never stopped looking
for that woman, who will grant
Good Earth's wishes and speak frank.
One morning, Max woke up with his vision
and began his labor of love on that white canvas.
Days, weeks, and months it took to manifest
but a face is evident on the horizon.
A lady with a Roman nose and fiery ringlets
Her passion burns through, like magnets
searching for its counterpart, in his art.

For A Lover, Away

It's like the morning after
with the sun spilling through
curtain slits

You lay there, so beautiful
among ruffled bed sheets, peaceful

The warmth of intimacy
hums softly on my skin

Never had I felt so
at rest.

You send me butterfly kisses
they flutter lovingly
on my collarbone
like a necklace,
so adorned.

The hummingbird
excited
within me,
listen close, my love

For this is a love note
written,
a symphony
played,
solely
for you.

Comatose - Skillet

I don't understand how it happens

I can still smell traces of you on my bed
and see the sleep in your eyes

where are you now?

I feel the roughness of your hands
against my soft skin
I feel the gentleness of your touch
against my aching back

I sent you back

I look out my window, hoping
but your spot is vacant
as if you were never here

You've gone away.

I can still feel the chilling water
from dipping my toes into the fountain water
Hopping stones to be closer to the sliding falls
we sat like that
isolated and content, twice
under the sun, under the moon

You've gone away.

We stroll to careless whispers
With promises to climb that one tree
With witnesses to us being together
at long last.

I've lost consciousness.

In the quiet parking lot
in the midst of the darkness
we sat at the back of your truck
smoking our greatest high,
the presence of us.

When?

I have pictures and countless proofs
videos to the sound of your voice
the way your scent lingers, ever so
the way my desk left disarray
with remnants of you.

I could live in your arms forever more
But I can't.
I can never walk around this place without
thinking you were there too.

Breakfast on Sundays at Rosie's
My first Chipotle burrito
Falling asleep to Benjamin Button
Blasting Skillet on the highway
Going on long journeys
Drinking the best Ice Tea under the sun
Talking about things we don't care for

I've been left.

Tell me, until when?

3 Generations of Women

She sleeps on the hospital bed again tonight
there's only so much in life she can fight
Alone, surrounded by hundreds of
strangers full of bleeding stories,
latching on forgotten glories.
She's old and fragile, a little lady
Don't let your bad dreams haunt her, please
Let her rest, Let her heal

She's a puppet doll, attached to strings you pull in delight
Plane ticket in her back pocket, she won't board her flight
Heaven only knows how many times she's cried
over the used.
She is injured but cannot afford her savior.
Don't let your bad dreams haunt her, please
Let her go, free her suffering soul

Skies are graying and clouds are racing to cover
the last of the light
I see out the glass windows, my city, my home
But I'm already losing sight.
I'm horrible at Hellos and
even worse at Goodbyes
Don't let your bad dreams haunt me, please
Let me run, let me see.

Stuck

Last Friday night, my friend and I went to our first poetry reading at the Urban Juke Joint, it's a once a month get together in NYC. All the performances I was able to catch was utterly amazing. Even though I may not relate to some of the topics, such as slavery, I left pumped with a sort of creative energy. I think the most enriching part of the night was their open forum, where anyone can take the mike and share their views on that night's subject. I learned that I'm not a poet, but I speak poetry. There's a difference.

For the past few months I've been stuck. I couldn't write anything decent probably because I'm not riding on any sort of emotional rollercoaster. I pushed myself yesterday to write this following piece. It's not my usual format of poetry, it's more "spoken-word."

How long has it been since you left me?
I can't recall.
They say that time heals all wounds
well they lied
because they clearly have never been in love.
Oh God, were we in love?
Who knows but we were certainly
tugging on a thread that
would have no doubt unravel into it.

How long has it been since you left me?
Too long.
For awhile I couldn't stop thinking
about you
obsessing
about you
stalking
you on MySpace,
because people from Indiana don't go on Facebook.
So much of my life it took.

Then suddenly I learned to forget.
In almost an instant
you became no one.
I forgot
how great you used to make me feel
how your voice was enough to make me smile
I forgot
all that
and moved on.

Now, after however long
we're talking again.
Yet it's what we don't speak about
that screams bloody murder.
We're not talking about how I live further
than the girl you exchanged me for
We're not talking about how we really feel
in your head I'm still unreal
We're not talking about
all the things driving us mad.

How long has it been since you left me?
It doesn't matter
I'm long gone.