Tag: creative poem

Poem: Femoral artery (fever dreams)

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Poem: Femoral artery (fever dreams)

I watch you when you’re bad
I take careful notes
I set them on fire and summon gentle ghosts
They won’t scare you or hurt you the most
Nothing like true love taken away, not even close

I’m sixteen in a few days, I’m trapped in this body
I want you to mimic a system like monoclonal antibodies
Feed the hunger
Burn the rage
Set flames to whom I accused you of being
Prove me wrong
Come as a surprise
I’m finding I don’t make the impression that I imply
Sunsets after jazz concerts on the lawn
I try to find stingrays in the ocean when I swim
I think if this life is a fight, then I’ll most likely win
But they’re doing a good job of telling God that I sinned

Like fever dreams
Like soft doeskin
That came from a being you shouldn’t have touched
I wonder at what point will it all be enough
Blew smoke in his face, he tried calling my bluff
I wake up strong, but I wouldn’t say I’m tough
My wrists are so small the cops use child handcuffs
I wish I was making all this stuff up

To live a romantic life is to surrender to passion
With the weather today, I would say it’s not in fashion
Love for me will never be everlasting

I want it to be
I desperately hope
But we always lose the ones we love the most
They hit your bare knees, the cascading blue waves
Make you stay up pacing around for days
I don’t have the time, and I’ve lost my own place
I was so far ahead
I was almost there
I thought I was close
I was almost there
I choked on my insides
I was almost there
I saw my femoral artery
Blood soaked my white underwear

Like fever dreams
Like soft doeskin
That you’ll always regret purchasing because your ex-girlfriend was a vegan and the way she wears pink ribbons in her ash blonde hair makes you go wild
You act like a child
And I wouldn’t even say your advantage was mild
Knock on my door
Stay a while
I’ll only be happy watching you char in the fire

I know the feeling
I know the daze
I know the brilliant, beautiful Autumn haze
I know Fridays spent alone and solitary Sundays
I’ll only respect you if you participate in the chase
And God, I love it when you try to plead your case
You lost the bet
The cops know you
You think you get me, but I don’t believe that’s true
You’re only with her because there’s nothing else to do

Playing with marbles on the carpet, so they don’t roll too far away
I don’t have the time
I’ve lost my own place
But I clean up nice and live my life with grace

You’re lucky I won’t let you see me face-to-face
You won’t forget my brutality for several days
It’s my milk white gentleness that you can’t replace
I used to tell you I love you, but now I’ll rephrase

The kind of girl you wish you had for the holidays
The kind of girl you wish you had for the holidays
The kind of girl you wish you had for the holidays
As vital to the body as acetylcholinesterase

It’s my resilient nature that will get me through this phase
I used to tell you I love you, but now I’ll rephrase

Lilac Dove

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Poem: 3 in the morning (God loves you)

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Poem: 3 in the morning (God loves you)

Sometimes at night
I think of you
(I’m lying – I always think of you)
There’s nothing else I’d rather do
It’s the bittersweet sting of being hopelessly enamored with you

The more you want it, the farther away it becomes
You stay up late and say you’ll sleep next to the sun
He says he’s running late, but he never does come
That’s the sad truth about not being the only one
I twirl my hair
I spin around
I choke so hard I fall to the ground
And if you calculated my efforts, I’d pay by the pound
I’m lost in abysmal and undulating surround sound

He put black padding on the walls to keep the voices quiet
Asked me what my favourite wine was and said that he’d buy it
Passed me angel dust, but I said I won’t try it
This time I’m not lying
It hurts more to keep trying
Don’t blame it on timing
If I am dust, you are worn out leather from a cow that loved to live and breathe fresh air
You ran your fingers through my soft, blonde hair
I knew you were unaware
You had me right there
You had me

Boys have short attention spans, so I’m working on making my poems shorter
As if a somber gaze doesn’t scratch at the envelope
As if the disposable cardboard coaster I kept from the bar we went to last year isn’t practically at its wit end
But I stare at it at night and I like to pretend
That you and I will never end
(You spin me round and round, you scream, you bend)
I only liked when you were drinking
Because you never stopped talking
And I could listen to your words for endless summer days

I’m watching my step
I’m too sharp for this town
I reached the vault of heaven, but you pushed me back down
And every time I walk away from you, I turn right back around
You’re the most beautiful thing that I have ever found

And if you want me, please tell me
That’s all that I ask
Because I don’t know how much longer
I can contain this chaotic energy, it’s only a setback
It pays for my grave
Collects debt at the tollbooth
Serves me a clean slate I can’t afford and makes it taste like dry vermouth
A botanical celestial atmosphere where there was you and I appeared and you said come here, baby girl, my doe-eyed dear
Please, my angel, don’t you ever disappear

I say never
Won’t do it
I’ll always be here

But you’re so distant from me that my words sound unclear
And the walls are blurry and they’re bleeding red
And I bought pink satin sheets for my queen-sized bed
And I wait every night for you to come fall sleep
But if your love cuts my skin, it doesn’t go very deep
If your flaws were secrets, they’d be mine to keep
And I replay your laugh in my mind on fucking repeat

I know only one thing that’ll make me complete
But if it’s me against her, I’m too weak to compete
I am a glacier dissolving in sunburns and aggressive summer heat
But I still thank God because he arranged for us to meet
I know it as much as I love the window seat
But I see you and her, so I make a spreadsheet
Of all the ways this is going to kill me
Please stop, only you can heal me
I need you like candy
I crave all of you
I know that my hopes are too good to be true
So I lay on the concrete, I only see in ocean-blue

I scream at God for letting me fall in love with you
It’s 3 in the morning
There’s nothing else to do

© Elle Silvestrov

I only liked when you were drinking
Because you never stopped talking
And I could listen to your words for endless summer days

Poem: 3 in the morning (God loves you)

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Poem: Mid-18th century French (intoxicating you)

distantcaveLeave a comment

Poem: Mid-18th century French (intoxicating you)

I’m baby blueprint in grid print intoxicating you
I’m the Fourth of July, 3 summers ago when we got high
We asked when did we stop having the times of our lives

My neck is so hurt, it’s too much for me to look down
But I always do
Redirect to separate avenues
Skateboard to my house, I’ll come out for you
Green apple lollipop, sour
Teach me your tricks and make it rain for a half-hour
Just enough to get the grill hot
Just enough to get me to take the most bone-chilling cold shower
I’m coming in hot
But I always leave so cold
In the cab I sit there- forlorn, morose, staring at the floor
Letting the kids run by and do what they’re told
I reminisce about the days when to be elegant wasn’t to be bold, and I coughed like raindrops like saran-wrap covering old left-overs
If it rains it pours, well you’re leaving – I’m sure
You always thought your music taste was so obscure
If it rains, it pours
Well, you’re leaving – I’m sure

I’m melting into hydrocodone bitartrate so crystallized you’d sell me for my Chemistry degree and put my name on your white t-shirts
Spray mist on your face until you’re reimbursed
Like daggers, how smooth you are when fatalities aren’t your responsibility, and you make your way down to the ferry where the starfishes know your name and keep it a secret
Nobody cares anyway

I’m coming in hot
But I always leave so cold

It’s too much for me to look down
But I always do
Reaching separate avenues

I said, life is a gamble
But I’m covering my face with my hands
My life is in shambles!
Can someone help me escape from this nonchalant misery I’ve so gracefully pretended is how to live a life?
I don’t make sense to anyone
I’m always deleting phone numbers
Past lovers
The smothered
The weak and the downtrodden, England in the shade
Four in the afternoon
Crisp, deafening cave
When you and I were little, we loved to misbehave
But now the landlord is asking for payments for our graves
And it’s mid-18th century French and it means
“Go fuck yourself”

Somber
Oppressively sober in mood
He looked at her with this decadent tone that I’d almost call smooth
If it wasn’t for the violence we heard up the street
The night skies were starless
I fell asleep regardless
I just wanted to escape for a week or two
I never knew my nightmares would come true
I liked the dark and the dull in colour but honey, what happened to you?
What’d they do to you?
What are you so scared of?
Why do you still try to write songs out of my poetry?
Why do you recycle and reread my emails?
Why do you send me false compliments in the mail?
Why’d you hire an attorney when you’d likely be better off in jail?
I don’t particularly adapt to being hated
I just deal
Fifty-dollar bill
I have a white dress that makes me look like a ghost and I thought I met a new boy that would love me the most
But he’s slipping out of my fingers, of course
Tell me I’m not predictable

Grey daffodils, crisp July skies
I just wanted to escape for a week or two
I never knew my nightmares would come true
It’s November and there’s not much more to expect from the undesirable residue
I just hoped I could sit down and paint you
Make something beautiful
Capture a black button-down shirt

Was it good when it hurt?
I’m stumbling over forgotten words
Insecure (or in great difficulties)
He was miserable without her

All is not lost
There is still some chance of success or recovery
But me, haha, me?
Sometimes when a defeat has been sustained
It’s better for everyone involved that you don’t speak my name

Not that there is much to be ashamed
It’s just
Was it good when it hurt?
I told you over and over,
I’m not a good flirt

I’m not a good flirt

If it rains, it pours
And it’s mid-18th century French and it means
“Go fuck yourself”

Poem: Your short poem

distantcaveLeave a comment

Poem: Your short poem

I’m going to write a short poem for you
Because your attention span in regard to me is dim, like my light
Like species survival in the afternoons by the Caribbean seas
Like a sunset that I swallowed because I was hungry and cold
How you lit me a half-broken cigarette, said I was engaging and bold
You shined your white teeth and like heaven I was sold

I took a section of your brain to look for “Fos” proteins to see which neurons were active
And I saw a glimpse of you and me on the playground
You were wearing blue jeans
Grass stains and all
I was wearing a pink gown like I was dressed for the ball
We were talking about being together and having it all
The wind blew
I got cold
You cradled me like a baby
Asked me to move in with you, I said screw you, maybe
I was so happy
I gleamed
Loyal like a preteen
So high on amphetamines
You kissed me on Seafoam boulevard, amongst the serene
By the ocean, strawberry cream lotion
Patches of snow, circles of rainfall
I’m in love with how you’re seventy-four inches tall
You call me graceful, for I’m patient and small
Call me once, just one phone call

Arachnoid hematomas
So thin you could see through my veins
Put me on the back of your bike, make me hold you real tight
Heaven shines in my eyes, it’s fluorescent and bright
White cerebral wave light
The stars and the apocalyptic tides
The places where my sensitivities hide

In your harsh but kind gaze I reside, and I don’t know why, I don’t know why

I wanted to write you a short poem
Because I can’t forget how much you mean to me
So I put words together, loosely, and tied them with a silver string
I asked you to light me up in the dark
But your attention span in regard to me is dim
Like my light

There is a light that always goes out

Poem: Surface tension (poolside dreams)

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I saw the skinniest girls at the pool today
They were all bone, with graceful flat stomachs
I started to hate myself again
And I considered if
Maybe I was going too far
Maybe they have scars to hide too
But I traced their gentle bodies with my disturbing eyes
And I couldn’t find a somber disguise
Or any evidence that they hate themselves too

Maybe I didn’t look deep enough
What’s on the surface conceals what’s underneath

I toss and turn wildly in my bedsheets
And maybe the spaces of my ribs and the lights in-between
No longer shine, no longer gleam
I look dirty even when I’m entirely clean
I try to smile, but I can’t hold back that I’m so, so mean

They splashed each other while in the water
I knew if I smiled I’d only bother
But maybe they were growing sick of each other
At that point, I’d be a newfound lover
But when it rains it decays what’s left of me
I only feel blissful when I’m swimming in the sea (I feel like it’s a part of me)
I am opalescent in matters of blue
Your favourite shades of Hunter green
Writing poetry with a ruptured spleen
I miss being a fragile and innocent young teen
Didn’t stop you from touching me

Didn’t stop you from touching me
You claimed that you were teaching me
But my skin turned dark like you were leaching me
I’d have the strongest, most bizarre of nightmares
Wake up sweating, alone, and scared
A modest, timid girl
Too small to be bared
You dragged my body up the crystallized stairs

What’s on the surface conceals what’s underneath
When the gun started firing, the bed I hid beneath
Is it always as rosy as the daydream makes it seem?
My God, being dead sounds so fucking serene

My God, being dead sounds so fucking serene

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