Love poem: Casualties

Welcome to my poetry website! Pink poems are love poems & blue poems are more general “life” poems. Each poem is interrupted by photographs and ends when you’ve reached the subscribe/soundcloud portion. xx

Love poem: Casualties

We were driving alongside an emerald beach and I was
Filming a TikTok video of the water, as the waves reached a height that
Didn’t scare me, and suddenly
I looked down & there was water in the car
We were driving through the water
I could breathe
I couldn’t breathe
I could breathe
I was asleep
I couldn’t breathe
Like dandelions
Picked at the wrong time

There were no problems
And we were free
Free to be ourselves, free to get wrapped up in each other
Not constrained by the world propaganda or what’s playing on the news
Television set out of our reach
(Do you even own a television?)
Keyboard in the kitchen sink
Fragrant butterflies

Nape of your neck
Upset stomach
Belly aches for you

There have been nothing but problems
Just me tossed up in you, cradled like the darkest blue
Until we wake up
Foggy skies, hear me out
I’m well familiar with ambivalence
Am very good at counting chirality centers in molecules
Though, when the numbers are in front of me
I wonder if in a different life
I could add them up and find you, again
We’d be soft and innocent
Like dandelion breath
I wouldn’t have to bruise your ego

What would you do
Blank, empty face
I’m well familiar
Can sequence a genome, but can’t figure out how to tell a boy that
I wanted to be the place he calls home

(He’d know if he read my poetry
He’d know if he was in love with me)

Figment of my imagination
Heart palpitations
Misguided communication
On repeat, wouldn’t dare to press rewind
Fast-forward through the archive of my mind
A baby that takes several years to be born
Fully formed
A landscape of an intoxicating tornado with a sunny portrayal of graciousness

What are you indebted for?
When you’re not standing at my front door
Blue ribbons in my hair
A long, pink, satin dress that I
Planned
For the
Occasion

Where I
Would be
Alone
With my patience
Watching little kids chase after their parents
Watching little kids chase after their
Watching little kids chase after
Watching little

Kids holding rose petals
Speaking in Spanish that I understand
Now
How
We
Were

Meant to fall apart so casually

Just like that
We go back
To the places we call home
And we pretend
To not
Care

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Love poem: Red t shirt

Love poem: Red t shirt

Drawing soft pink porcelain dolls
Make every word of yours important
If you’re speaking with purpose
The chaos in this dark room
It makes me nervous
But when I’m touching you
Like peach pink amphetamines
You push something onto me that makes me breathe

For a second there
For just a minute
I lost my breath

For just a second there
For quite a minute
I’ve become oblivious

I get excited for a hot second
Come out with guns blazing
So self-aware, peach pit
You like the way I serenade you
Dance around you in top-secret chambers
Untold, leaving it untold
Don’t get anything for free
Write whatever I want
It’s my heart, I forgot
It’s my heart, I forgot
You make me soft

Put some Salsa on and I’ll show you my moves
What I keep in my medicine cabinet
I’m made of Cabernet red
I’ll drink you in three sips
Balsamic vinaigrette
Anything that rhymes with your safety net
I’m lying by the pool
God I feel so cool
Looking at you
Cabernet red

I’m kicking and screaming
I don’t want you to spend the night
Yeah, I’ll be alright
I’m kicking and screaming
Introverted
I don’t want you to stay the night
I’m kicking and screaming
Introverted
Red t shirt

You don’t make me nervous
I have these soft lips
Amphetamines for fingertips
Intoxicating, isn’t it

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

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)

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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