Poems. Prose. Anything related to words.

Archive for 2011|Yearly archive page

Song for the Deer and Myself to Return On by Joy Harjo

In A favorite poem, Not written by me, Poetry on March 10, 2011 at 10:52 pm

This morning when I looked out the roof window

before dawn and a few stars were still caught

in the fragile weft of ebony night

I was overwhelmed. I sang the song Louis taught me:

a song to call the deer in Creek, when hunting,

and I am certainly hunting something as magic as deer

in this city far from the hammock of my mother’s belly.

It works, of course, and deer came into this room

and wondered at finding themselves

in a house near downtown Denver.

Now the deer and I are trying to figure out a song

to get them back, to get all of us back,

because if it works I’m going with them.

And it’s too early to call Louis

and nearly too late to go home.

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Skinny (still sort of a rough draft)

In Uncategorized on March 7, 2011 at 12:55 am

He promises love,
anything in between
it seems like enough
but I’m not skinny.

He doesn’t date around
but he’s been there before,
he’s been in beds,
he’s able to “score.”

He doesn’t sleep around
but he’s done “enough.”
I’m not up-to-par
if I’m not starving myself.

I’ve never been raw
or completely real,
I’ve never been skinny,
I accept it as God’s deal.

I write letters,
never mailed,
“I won’t be naked,
until completely thin.”

Malibu

In Poetry on February 28, 2011 at 10:29 pm

i don’t think you’d understand.
i want to come clean but i only can to one.
i want to put the bottle to my lips
and take a big drink.

i want to take shots
one after the other to drown myself.
this guilt is almost killing me.
i don’t want to hurt, i just want to have fun.

get me some ice,
but keep me warm with your heat.
hold me tight
almost suffocating me
but i like it.
i like you.

i want the thrill of speeding.
windows down,
air slipping through my fingers as i reach forward.

i want the chills of these drinks
slipping through my lips and down my throat.
get me high, bring me down,
get me through this.

i’m misunderstanding the words we’ve spoken so many times before
i’m forgetting the rules and regulations
i’m starting to open up,
and i know that nothing’s wrong with me.

put your hands on my waist,
let me kiss your lips.
grab my wrist and spin me on the dance floor,
take me away on vacation.
your favorite spot, malibu.

His Life

In Poetry on February 28, 2011 at 10:27 pm

She’ll be 22 and just miserable,
you would have been 19 and invincible.
Her life has become wasted, filled with your breaths,
she hardly knew you had just a couple left.
Dad doesn’t understand,
he’s been too busy with the world in his hands,
now he’s been looking for his son ever since.
His eyes when he was 2 is the focus now,
and the shine that left, no one knew how.
The little boy that everyone loves
grew to be the one with his life coming undone.
I guess things will never be the same,
and he doesn’t want us to point fingers,
because there’s no one left to take the blame.
So in this tragedy, we’re the stars,
but unlike a movie, we haven’t gotten very far.

Hello world!

In Uncategorized on February 28, 2011 at 3:47 am

Hello world! This is me:

  • 16 year old girl
  • junior at a private all girls school
  • proclaimed bad writer
  • aspirer
  • inspirer (i wish)
  • lover
  • hockey fan (go penguins!)
  • cat enthusiast
  • wannabe poet

Welcome to my world of bad poems (: and maybe some prose thrown in!