Tag: pink aesthetic

Free verse poem: Things I’ve found out (the right season)

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Things I’ve found out (the right season)

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

Like a cradle filled with endless lightning

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Free verse love poem: Speaking volumes (white florals)

distantcaveLeave a comment

Free verse love poem: Speaking volumes (white florals)

I’m in the pool, with your gentle gaze moving toward the horizon
Smooth riverbeds, crashing yet
Solemn
Tender in their collapsing wake
My sovereign ways trap you like hurricanes
Find slumber in the rectitude of my rendition of a classic painting of a
Prince attending to a young queen
Dismayed at her place, though in a quiet peace,
That glances violently towards a moral upbringing
A softness I couldn’t portray

The Dressing of the Favorite (1857), oil on canvas, by Henri Pierre Picou (French, 1824-1895)

A sea-foam fog dynasty I swore was mine
I told you the truth
It mattered to me
I found thoughts in my mind that I couldn’t hold back, entirely
Though I did my best,
To provide you with rest
My satin sheath, vibrant with scarlet cardinal fibers
The delicate breeze, like rapture
Golden but never, truth be told, reflecting lightning that makes marks in the sky
A tribute to no one
Is every structure soon to fall down?
The bolts unfastened, my lace dress & ultramarine form
A silhouette only God could have created
A boldness that scares away anyone who isn’t
Strong enough
To hold a woman in his arms and
Not want to change her

The light pink August calendar I have on my contemporary glass tabletop
That forgot the date when we
Began things
Paved was our course with giving looks at each other like we’re in a vintage film
A theatre for just the two of us
Hopeful dedication
Watching our past conversations and having new conversations about those from before
We don’t run out of things to talk about
But when you find me watching the cars on the road pass by us, viciously,
Counting the trucks
Taking note of their model and make
You see something in me that I could not tell you
Not because I can’t find the right words
I always find the right words

Along the Siene, Winter (1887) by Frederick Childe Hassam (American impressionist painter, 1859-1935)

I don’t know what you know
And I don’t know if you know me
But when your gaze becomes increasingly familiar, I cascade into a
Reflection interrupted by the silliest words you stream together
A childlike ambiance, golden in accuracy
Crisp like a wave’s current
Interjected with passing a cigarette lighter
Getting higher
From rays of the subtle light of day,
Muted only in temperament
Dulcet on the edges
I told you I was yours
I meant it, of course

Le Baiser (The Kiss) (commissioned by the French state in 1888, carved between 1888-98) by Auguste Rodin (French sculptor, 1840-1917)

We stop at the gas station; you run in to the corner store; you bring me honey green tea
For your girl (that is a friend)
Patient and kind
A dove’s brisk white feathers
Softer than mankind
Rougher than a woman’s fingertips
Comfortable in the chaos
Surrendering to a time when you could count the green specks in my eyes
And smell my white floral perfume

It seems as of now we have moved on to the Heavens
Where you call me Venus
And I mistake you for someone I’ve never known before
An oceanic climate to the boulders we create
When we feel inclined to say
Why do I like you so much?
Why do I like when you’re rough?
I do still find, thinking to myself, whether I’m good enough
But when the porch light comes on,
I move the thought along
To the binder where I keep my disarrayed opinions
Resolving to find
Some water to allow
My throat to stop tightening when I get up during the night
Patience, my ever-present accomplishment, finds its way to you
Presenting an elegance you couldn’t get from anyone else

Improvisation (1899) by Frederick Childe Hassam (1859-1935), oil on canvas

I find myself in spaces
When you are absent
Distress being transient
Because your face is

A discernment I couldn’t get from anyone else

The Aleutian mountains and the disintegrating cliffs
Couldn’t mask the foundation I thought we’d bring
Resolving to find
Some water to allow

My throat to stop closing when I sleep at night
I wonder if styrofoam composure could fail to observe my fright
To weave in serenity in light shades of pink,

On days like today, I’m unsure how to drink
Come, lay in bed

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Love poem: Grey t-shirt (chamber orchestra)

distantcaveLeave a comment

Love poem: Grey t-shirt (chamber orchestra)

A love poem about admiration & being interpreted as an authentic rendition.

A chamber orchestra to tell you that
I liked you in that grey t-shirt
Where stillness isn’t illness & former wounds don’t hurt
Moving my bed for me
Minding the carefully close-cut angles
Sweet diamond necklace for
Your baby girl
Soft as a feather
Lie here forever
Absorb the crisp meadow fog that bestows upon us
In our transient youth
We carry inherent truth
Teardrops like vessels that transmit to the azure
My ivory-white dress
Hair is a mess
Porcelain flesh

Find me in your wake

We drift like sovereign kingdoms unheard of
I don’t know your middle name
And this playground is made for the game
We play where you hold me when it’s dark outside
And the streetlights have yet to become undone
Every weekday I rise before the sun
Make you early morning toast
Vegan butter for my lover
You make me laugh in ways nobody ever has
And you’re so good at that
Turning my eyes lilac

Eyelashes painted tar pitch black
Tainted with dismay, but
The softest, quietest features make up your
Sweeping shoulders
A worn man with a contractor’s tan
That moves like sunbeams across flourishing streams
Finding meaning
Hope is so fleeting
But like windmills, we find a day’s work ahead
And you crawl in bed
Influenced by times I had said,
I would be here to calm your nerves
Patient and kind, like a little bird
I’ll be so warm, nothing has to hurt

I set a little trap; in it, I gathered dewdrops
Fragrances from the heavens
Get me home by eleven
Lay on your truck bed and I tell you I’m scared
The future felt obsolete but,
When our gaze meets
I find you in a pocket of porcelain teeth
Gnawing at the frostbite
The howling of the mariner’s night
You rearrange your textbooks and I, light as a pinion
Slip out of the way and I want you to stay
In your grey t-shirt so I can admire
The fibers that overlay your hardened shoulders
Something inside me no longer unnerving
The weight of the earth no longer a burden
You’d go mad from the chaos in my sheath

A smoothness to my skin that absolves sins
The way I’m lighthearted, like no one ever departed
Leaving me to stand in the snow that is falling
And it is now that I think I am stalling
From telling you, I see
Amber rays underneath your eyelids
In the near distance, a gathering of kids
Laughing like God allowed them to celebrate
We’ve got our entire lives to make what’s never been made
Your swarm of avalanches
The dark-cornered branches
This is my stop; I’m home now and
In mint julep transience and snowy ambiance
I’ve somehow arrived in your department
The flowers in the vase in the center of my apartment
The things that make me smile before I go to lock it

Behind me to turn to you and
We drove through Stars and Stripes
Detonating furiously like January ice
We slipped and fell in front of a chamber orchestra
A noise I can only recollect when you object
To me, choosing a spot in the shade,

You want the sun’s rays to cast their marvel on my figurine, my sugared marmalade
Vast open skies
Graceful, feminine thighs
I’m fair-skinned, I know, but your words go to show
You want to have me in the best possible light
Get the green in my patient & reserved eyes, just right
Note the ash blonde strands that are tied with a ribbon
Falling slightly on my face,
Terrible thing to waste
Being at the right time at the right age

When you are near
I don’t have to fear
That I will be seen differently than I am composed

It’s gentle velvet days and nights like those
That I don’t mind you being so close
In your charcoal-grey, woven-cotton t-shirt

To see me as delicately as I am composed
It’s silk & satin days and nights like those
That I just love you being so close

That I just love being in love, almost

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Poem: Soft-lit diner (like this)

distantcaveLeave a comment

Poem: Soft-lit diner (like this)

We’re sitting down at a soft-lit diner
You’re asking about my old man, the coal miner
I think of soft petals when I see you

Your grey truck is parked out front
There’s flowers in my hair and flowers in my hands
The only arguments we have are about who are the best bands
And I always win
I always win

You listen to the things I say, like they’re important
And your gorgeous pale skin is coming to focus
I’m not sure when I want to press the shutter
Because I just love looking at you like this
Ambivalent
Pink kiss
Collagen lips
I love looking at you like this

This is about the time that I begin to get paranoid
But, no
My gaze is on you
The sky interrupts me into pieces
I have nothing to be guilty about
I think I’ve got it figured out

I’m madly in heaven; the ocean is crisp
The sea makes me forget about the bitter drip
Your eyes are magnified

Ambivalent
Pink kiss
Collagen lips
I love looking at you like this

I found myself without inspiration
So I didn’t write for weeks
I think you know
I think you know
If I took your hand, where I would lead you to

I have nothing to be guilty about
This time around
This time around
I’m running away from you on the playground
I’m running away from you on the playground

Your voice is my new favourite sound
I say to you
Speak loud

This time around
This time around
I’m running away from you on the playground
Your voice is my new favourite sound
Your voice is my new favourite sound

The ocean is crisp
I love looking at you like this

Poem: White Honda Civic (over you)

distantcaveLeave a comment

Poem: White Honda Civic (over you)

I loved when you had that white Honda Civic
I think I loved the person you were when you were in it
A little optimistic
A tad less sadistic
Revvin’ it up
Making me mad
Falling harder & harder like an annoying pop song
Listening to you breathe when you fall asleep
Telling me I’m always in your dreams

Sobriety was supposed to fix you
Instead, it showed me the real you
So I concluded I can no longer love you
Even though you beat me like a drum
Look good with anything on
Bleed like Kermes vermilio crimson
Bore me to death with the best stories I’ve ever heard
Sentences where you compare me to her
Never allowing me to feel more than unsure
Memories that fade to an unpleasant blur
I couldn’t stop

I knew it was all wrong
You turned my poetry into songs
That you’d play for other girls to make them think you’re good with words
Jazz and ice
Forget paradise
In your lab, I’m all the squirming mice
I know you better than that
Please stay on your Prozac
The world can be so wonderful the day you stop feeling so attacked
& I’m learning to think clearly before I get so attached
You make me so mad
I changed my mind about ever coming back

I can’t
I can’t
Do that dance again
You treat me like God’s biggest mistake
And then tell me heaven isn’t real, it’s all fake
How am I supposed to feel?
How do you know what’s real?
All my favourite people are there
Where do they go when they’re scared?
How upset were they with me when they saw that I didn’t leave but remained aware?
Cappuccinos that are hot
Smiling, and then not
All the blueprints to me – every detail, you forgot
The slow progression of feeling unloved and lost
This is my forever, that’s what I thought

You’re not made for me
You live painfully
I am trying my best to no longer feel sorry for you
The things that you do
You don’t understand their magnitude
Stop singing my lines to girls just to make them fall in love with you
You don’t understand my words
I’m in the ocean with the dead birds
I was so happy you got better, but you only really got worse
I think being caring is my most volatile curse

When I think of you
It’s a reminder to me
Of how oblivious, hopeful, & sad I can be
Especially when I paint rose petals so pink and lovely in my dreams
But the reality of what we are is so far from what it seems
Part of me wishes I was too vapid to think of these things
The emptiness of the situation has a dolefulness it brings
Some days I feel lighter
But for the most part, the powers of retention can really sting
I said I’d do anything

And I sing my own poetry to myself to fall asleep
I’m not trying to impress anyone
I live a life that’s very alone
And I can only hope that from here on I don’t succumb
To keeping somebody close by my side
That won’t buy me flowers because of his pride
You hated the beach, so I never got to feel loved by the tide
Some of my friends seriously thought that I died

Don’t say I didn’t try to help you
In all sincerity, I tried
At what point will I have finally given enough reasons why
I don’t answer your calls
I don’t want you at all

I loved when you had that white Honda Civic
I think I loved the person you were when you were in it

Promising

Thank you for reading! Comment if you have something to say, otherwise stay safe & fall in love with the right people.

Elle

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