Too beautiful to me, it is The way the truth falls but doesn’t diminish its overwhelming servitude Grief like hollow images and stills To be flawed and fawned with grey embers & soft wax Rolled on Ireland’s greenest pastures My dream garden My avalanche
I wake up endlessly absolving my sins, unraveling for you Tell me what it is you want me to do I’m so aware of what I can and cannot be And I think it’s best you not be there for me I tire in my own sleep
Morning cereal For four in the afternoon You wash over me like an Avalanche Like my dream garden White roses and picket fences, freshly painted Soft tuberose fragrance Dismantling me from within Fabricated and built in great jeopardy Soft and of the finest fabric
I think of you in waterfalls, that I’ve never seen before I ask you to close the door I’m impatient in the mornings but by evening so wrapped up in comatose fiber sheath Toying with my own nerves On purpose Like a fever dream Like ants unscrambled Running out of fear, hiding beneath dust Moving pollen and feathers to their corporate offices
When I pass by you on the street With my kitten heels and utmost softness Try not to Try not to
Go back to your dream garden Your avalanche Beneath dust
Connected by the sheer composition that melts in broad daylight Collectively held at A disadvantage Brought together in the Spring when the ambiance paints a different mood For the dust underneath the conjoining ether Without reserve Still and unenthusiastic Hopeful, yet without meaning
Find me in my personal dream garden When the smoke clears
a free verse poem about finding stability & self-acceptance
I know That things won’t work out as planned I know that Because my mother taught me how to be a man But there are Parts of me that won’t let someone hold my hand Because I Because I Find graveyards appealing Harsh winter thunderstorms healing And the chaos within you is quite often revealing Of the doom and dismay your surroundings convey The filth The agony The dreams others built for you become destroyed I’m my own person
But when I drive home at night I don’t feel alone I just know I am
It was cold in Chicago And I wanted to lay down In the snow My frail body Seldom appears melancholy Singing you songs, breathlessly, to you in your sleep Though my voice is never the right pitch Maybe that’s why I wait Until you hit your steady dream state An abyss of perpetual ignorance to moral obligations
The impatience Is testing me Like a ticking clock Telling me I Haven’t painted The sky quite right Haven’t gotten the stars To my audience’s delight And I think I might combust From the tainted, porcelain figure I often wish to set on fire Because what burns Feels so warm In winter
It’s almost February The anniversary of A thousand slumbers A rainfall that struck me like Lightning on the fast lane on the highway Swerving between cars with my eyes closed Thinking I’m oh – I’m just so composed But me, parchment paper thick, practically comatose Wouldn’t keep anyone up at night When you haven’t Made a name For yourself And nobody Gets the intonation In your full name quite right Maybe it’s not The right time To say
That what burns feels so warm In winter My god The shades of blue How I’d devour the skyline Like an arsonist, I fade to grey Along with the trembling cityscape
I encapsulate all the seasons & am easily forgotten
I only hope to properly portray The vacancy light in this hotel I occupy
Me, Against the wall Cold, doll-like, confused Fingertips Painted the lightest shade of pink that the nail salon could offer me If only, I could be elegant I could like parts of myself that others don’t I could live my life like My father envisioned
When he said to me
That I was born In the perfect season For a girl who prolongs Finding a reason To burn this place down to the ground
Hollow Cave Where my old journals remain Where ex-boyfriends mispronounce my last name They never remember the best parts of you They never really knew How to get through How your eyes turn dark green when your favourite song comes on Or when the colour temperature is five thousand Kelvin and I feel ashamed That I woke up to find Myself Not in embers But filling a body With wholeness that only
Real self-acceptance could develop and create
Something permanent Is never Found
I’m no good with directions but I don’t believe I’m lost I’m exactly On my own two feet Waiting To leave a message after the beep
But I hang up, because I remember They can’t pronounce my last name The intonation Is weak And I Am so Much farther than I thought I would be At this time of my life Are you, at all, surprised?
When I look At the cars Passing me by On the highway, I wonder If they’re going Somewhere warm and inviting
I don’t know why That To me Feels so terribly frightening
This is a free verse poem about attachment and detachment – defeat on behalf of simplicity’s sake.
I didn’t expect myself to still feel like this And my mother laughs because it’s only been a few days But I feel like it’s dragging on It’s dragging on And we didn’t even come to the conclusion of what would become our song So what am I here to do Sitting in the corner of the modern, moss-green, vibrantly street-lit café, A damsel in despondency, A variation of your favourite four-course strings A broken-down parlor path with a shiny diamond entryway and glass slippers lining the blizzard-sinking ships, That match my cruelty My taste for rabid tongue The whispers I wouldn’t let you utter And the hesitation you’d be lucky to never have suffered
Portrait of Princess Tatyana Yusupova (1850) by Franz Xaver Winterhalter, oil on canvas
A chance for melancholia to clash with the force of nature To detract from a foreign film A lost, aching still An avalanche of surprise Beguiled by sheer imagination and phosphorescent icing
That smothers a kingdom like the holiest ghost Always bittersweet to the liking Made for sharp, pristine vengeance
Sans Titre (Untitled) 115 by Eliane L. Guerin, oil on canvas
In my own reserved portrait of solitude Gazing vibrantly at the majestic cars that drive by The classics, the tragic The ancient and recumbent Reoccurring in stunning ways I could not even think to properly illuminate in due time Typing Silently Wishing you were next to me Smiling The way you do The way you do So magnificent Eyes glimmering in concave and crimson, blue God, I was this close to being obsessed with you
I feel like A teenager An angry one A bitter fool Mad at myself because I brushed away the The fleeting thoughts of nah, he won’t like me if I say that Nah, he won’t like me if I wear that Nah
The Bath (1874) by Alfred Emile Leopold Stevens, oil on canvas
I’m moving in circles because I forgot how to dance I forgot how to feel alive I trip over my own words Everything is in disarray I thought you were going I thought you were going I thought you were going to make it work I thought you were I thought you were I thought you were going to make it work with me I thought you were I so thought you would have Made it work with me And that would be Meaningful Hopeful Spontaneously planned Crimson and clover all over Soft rubber bands
Now you’ve got me in a pit and you Hung up on me I threw my cellular device on the street I don’t want to talk to anybody Anybody at all Anybody at all Anybody at all Anybody at all
I’m not writing another poem about a boy that doesn’t have the strength to come Tell me it’s not working Stand there in your clandestine flesh Stand there, giving me a real piece of yourself Look at me with dandelions in my hair
Mending the Gown (early 20th century) by Adolphe Borie (1877-1934), oil on canvas, figurative artwork
Don’t say I’m too charming for you Tell me I’m too alarming for you Tell me I scare the living daylights out of you
And you’ve got other girls calling you Answer the phone in front of me Take the flowers out of my hair Push me down on the tar-stained sidewalk Bully me like you do on your bad days Get your way
That’s how I want you to leave me
Not like Not like Not like Not like Not like Not like Not like Not like
Open Air Interior Barcelona (1892) by Ramon Casos i Carbo, oil on canvas
A free verse poem interpolating love and boredom, those mutually excluded. I write about my surroundings and how I respond to them; I write about you and how I’m feeling enamoured, but I won’t make this a love poem. www.paypal.me/LilacDoveCA
I’ll slip like a satin glove One abstraction over another, turn the pages, can’t stop reading textbooks on topics I haven’t reached yet in my academia London print and soft pastels to remind me softness still exists In little teacups filled with daredevil laughter
How do I Distract from the blue light filter I’ve got this covenant, this modern-day orchestration A plate of cinnamon toast for two With soy whipped cream and untouched, fresh blueberries A breakfast in the comfort of our living room With the television on, Vintage advertisements Try it for yourself, buy it, now! We put our heads in our hands, switching places Serenade me, serenade me Run away with me
Impressed by my collection of 14.2 carat diamonds I knew it wasn’t right, but I find it hard to stop myself from trying When you hear me tell my truth, you think I’m lying A country house’s ceiling covered in coral-buff-pink that doesn’t compete with the furniture and artwork in the room I don’t believe I’ve lived this life before I say silent goodbyes to the waves when I swim towards the shore Never settling in life because there’s always something more
But I’m patient, I can wait I know how to play this waiting game But I’m patient, I don’t hesitate to hesitate I know how to play this waiting game
You spend your life attached to the poison You see the same things in every new person But I – I find waves to weave my carefully knit spiderweb The remnants of my being (but I swore I could be tranquil) I engulfed you like a macrophage I brought you to the Heavens They asked me for all my pennies and I said all I could offer were dimes In an aster black & dune-white coin purse With wild daisies in watercolour Where I keep a ticket stub from our day at the ballet Our day in the sweet vermouth from the South Your shots of whiskey – endless, hopeless- almost!
But I found you out by the car, near the diner with the half-lit sun-kissed sign That illuminates the grey tones of the weakened sky I’ve yet to find a relation that feels like spiral twine In due time My dear one It always takes time
Crumpets in bed, you’re so sweet; why are you doing these things for me The back of your Carrera that you lean on when I find you Down, downtrodden In a medieval, Victorian garden I found roses that smelled like the ones you once bought for me I wrote secrets down on receipts for other people to find And they’ll have no idea what I’m talking about What I’m writing about They always have no idea what I’m composing about What I’m going on about Often too timid to say what I’m handling out loud (In the wild Texan landscape, I screamed without making a sound)
But you, cast like the sun’s sharp, contrasted rays upon the deep blue, dark steel water body that is Where I swim against the current because it’s the closest I manage to get to what others feel from amphetamines A satin blanket with a cushion for our picnic by the bayside
You, there, me – laughing when I look at you Think I know why you do the things you do But nobody is ever sure of anything, how can they be? I’m the Chicago princess, the flat-rate bourgeoisie Things that make most sense to you don’t mollify me In the orbit of the moon I am your apogee
How is your gaze so familiar when it’s just out of sight? Inoperative like a 1990s old engine Civic brake light But I’ll be the warm air watching your gunfight With the resilience and nepotism of stunning graphite Like the perfect backdrop Like an ivory white snowstorm while indoors I’m what the mosquitos won’t ever bite
I think it’s sweet, how people give you their time In a palace where everybody always feels they’re running out of such a concept, The ballgame isn’t enough (Oh, you think you’re so tough?) Pour me iced green tea Show me you can be there for me Tell me I’ve been disillusioned Replace the terror in me
Satin-pink signature bowtie on the back of my tulle dress, and flower petals arranged to counter my dismay I am a lovable girl Who loves in the most appropriate way
The kind of girl that sends you straight to fame Ambition my only pursuit, I write you love letters on the train
I am bored with how it hasn’t yet rained In days In days In days In days In days In days In days In days
Free verse poem: This is my castle (they built it for the queen)
All I want is some wine To know that you’ve tried But I don’t get what I want, but in case you forgot, This is my castle; they built it for the queen I’ve gone by my nickname since I was nineteen I picked the cherry stems just fine Wrapped them around you in due, hazel time Not unsettled by rage, only burnt by hot sunshine There is a time and a place For letting me go tonight I can only live in shades of blue for so long
You’ll call when you’re drinking But the rosemary and fever dream has me thinking That in this warm abyss, I’m finally putting myself first I’m the most decadent of late-night desserts (I don’t care if I get hurt) Moving like the Chicago Transit Authority that picks me up every fifteen minutes, To sit and watch the downtown splendor, the people having conversations The luxurious skyscrapers with their gleaming reflections on the river My god, if you could see it My god, if only you could see it Reels of the same film run through my mind
I look at the lilac flowers That I picked out for myself You handed your credit card to the cashier and made my head hurt You didn’t want to be there You pinched my weakest nerves But they fired back, like dropped bombs on a 1990s Cadillac I was confused when I looked in the mirror, and I wasn’t blushing Why, as a young girl, did I feel nothing?
I moved, so briskly I held them, so close I always hold flowers so deathly close to me Can’t help having something in my life I don’t intend to have and to hold, as the evening unfolds I’m mesmerized by the dusky, disorderly, crimson, secluded, and mechanical sky I can’t help having something in my life without keeping it close-by I’m a porcelain and ivory, soft-hearted girl All you had to do was try All you had to do was try
Ice cream summer popsicle dreams Muscle relaxant mixed with white amphetamines To handle the chaos that you collided with mine I think there’s a right place, and a right time But if you call late at night, know I’ve had some red wine So the pauses are longer When you hold your breath, No longer allowed to lay your head on my chest Coming to terms with what I’m led to believe You’ve been lying to me I saw it; I grabbed it; I wreaked some fucking havoc Internally, always Internally No longer lying awake as you, beside me, breathe
An exemplary paradise for your magical thinking She’s the one, she’s the only one Who cared to ask about Things you couldn’t say out loud To anyone, anyone She’s the one, she’s the only one She’ll be the one, she’ll be the only one To tell you the truth To show you who you are She’s the only one She’ll be the only one
I’ve moved in a geometric possession to the interwoven mention, Of “boyfriend,” and “happy” And “I don’t want to,” A passing thought: was I gentle enough As if in my lifetime, I’ve ever been rough Like a foreign identity I’ve latched onto lately To remove your hesitation with no A+ on my exam I rest my heavy head in my pale hands I pull you back and forth like a rubber band I’m swimming and I don’t want to come up to breathe
But I have to I have to
Like fine black metal branches, delicate though not brittle, The uncertainty Is damaging It feels Like tragedy Knocking on hell’s door asking if I’m ready for some more Are you ready for some more? The peaches were more vibrant than I could have dreamt them up to be But they’re only on a painting that was completed in the 17th century Find myself alone in this maze of lost equilibrium There’s an error in your calculations The past has nothing to do with the girl standing before you It’s taken me 26 years to learn the blind cannot be cured by me Even though it’s my specialty Even though it was real to me, Even though I
Count blueberries and pick off their tiny stems On a blanket, it rains; I am hopeful again For a time when I’m sitting in a boy’s passenger seat, and he looks at me And he’ll feel so free The thought of belonging to me They have led astray me, but don’t go by a day That I don’t count the ways
I grow softer, and softer As I learn man’s ways,
I grow softer and softer I don’t lose myself in the haze If you knew what I know, My god, you’d be amazed
