Starting Over

Author's Note: I'm tired of writing depressing poetry, or only writing good things when I'm sad.

From now on, I'm going to start writing just for the fun of it. Or well, writing well. And this will take much practice. But I want to do it.

Therefore, I'm going to start by exporting very, very old scraps that I've converted into short poems. They do not have my usual rhythm, whimsy, emotion, or rhyme. But looking back at them, I don't really mind. I like them a little more now. And they're hope that I can develop something a little more for my poetry. Because at the very least, these poems still sound like me.

So here's to starting over.

That is all.

///

never again.

She came home with blood
dripping from her severed finger.

He told her to go
clean up the carpet,

not noticing that her wedding ring
            was gone.

(10/09/11)

lovely fabric, dear.

She danced in her dress that night 

and people told her it suited her. 

She laughed, thinking of all

the hearts she took to make it.

(08/28/11)

fault lines.

We drowned out 

the noise of the world 

with the beat of hearts 

and footsteps 

in the effort to dance 

on fault lines. 

Nobody quite expected 

          the tsunamis.

(08/21/12)

burning strings, again.

People thought liquid fire 

that you could drink 

was useless. 

But it was the best thing 

      to burn 

all these butterflies with.

(05/04/11)

disney.

And so they lived 

happily ever after. 

At least until 

they got married. 

Then they couldn't 

stand each other. 

But fairy-tales 

never show that.

(04/27/11)

curiosity.

And when you said 

you were bulletproof, 

I just had to test it. 

Apparently, you're not. 

Curiosity killed you, 

          I guess. 

Oops.

(05/06/11)

flaw.

He wanted to love her. 

But she had that one flaw. 

Then when he finally got over it, 

he just had to say; 

"I love you, Mole-y. 

     I mean. Molly."

(05/19/11)

cell.

He looked at the petri dish 

           and smiled. 

He had gotten 

what he wanted from her: 

          her cells. 

Here they were, 

neatly dividing themselves. 

Soon he would have 

a "her" that loved him.

(06/22/11)

weight.

You put the weight of your world 

on my shoulders, and took my hand 

so we could run through the earth

and show them how happy you were now.

(10/09/12)

breath.

So you took my breath away 

and trapped it in a bottle, 

for the greatest theft 

          of your life. 

You put your ninja mask on 

and hopped off the window ledge 

to throw the bottle into the sea, 

and told me that maybe 

I'd be lucky enough 

to get it back one day.

(09/28/12)

fudge.

So she stole my heart. 

At the time, she thought 

it was a brownie.

(12/03/11)

A Letter to my Future Husband

Author's Note: I got bored, and after reading my friend's version of this, I got curious to see how mine would turn out.

///

To whoever you are (and whatever stupid pet name I may or may not have chosen to give you),

I have spent the first 13 years of my life with a clear picture of who I wanted you to be. I had a set of standards that I felt that if somebody met, then they would be perfect for who you would be.

Two experiences in my life have proven to me that the best things come unexpectedly. That's the wonder of it.

Therefore, I'm going to begin this by saying that I will honestly have no idea who you will be, or what you'll be like. All I know is that in a world of infinite possibilities, it will be a wondrous thing to have met you amongst the thousands of choices and little moments that all led to this future.

A lot of people might say they want to meet the perfect guy, and that's who they'll fall in love with.

I don't want you to be perfect. That would be boring.

In fact, if there's anything I'd ask of you, it's that you won't be afraid to be flawed for me. I want to know you for who you are, for all the little details and bits that make up you. Because I wouldn't have loved you if you were anything other than who you were. I want to help prove to you that you're a thermodynamic miracle, and that you were an improbability that still sprung up in the world.

Therefore, in advanced, I wanted to thank you. Firstly, I want to thank you for putting up with me. I know how infuriating I can get. I know how I can be strange and not very easy to understand. But I guess the fact that you've chosen me means that to some extent, you do understand. Thank you for appreciating me for me.

I hope that whatever we have will make it. I hope that we both understand that it's not just about this giddy feeling of butterflies we get. Because by now I'm sure you understand that I'm a huge mess between a cynic and a wild, crazy dreamer. So part of me is terrified that one day you're just going to get up, walk away and say quite simply that the magic is over between us. That part of me is also terrified that one day, the one walking out the door might be me. So I hope that we can remember that what we have right now is also a commitment. It's a promise that we've made to each other. And if there's one thing I'm proud of, it's my stubbornness to keep promises. Hopefully you believe in the same thing, as well. But this marriage is obviously about two people. So we'll always need to compromise. And that will need honesty. So no matter how many fights we might get into, I hope we end up fixing them before we go to bed. And that will need the honesty and getting over the fear of hurting each other.

I'm apologizing in advanced for the days I'm going to be off. Even more off than usual, anyway. I really have no explanation for you to make you understand why there are some days when everything just feels so wrong. Maybe it will be those days I'm going to be more isolated and just write. Please understand that I have a passion for writing, and sometimes writing will mean I have to be alone. It doesn't mean I love writing more than you. If I could share that part of my world with you, I would. But I have no idea how. And I'm sorry for that. I'm also apologizing for the times you may find yourself in my writing. Even if it won't always be blatant: maybe you'll find one of our moments recreated in a story, or a character that salutes everyone goodbye the way you do. Sometimes, I won't be able to help it. You have, after all, become a huge part of my world. And I can't help it if I subconsciously end up proclaiming how wonderful those quirks of you are to all my readers.

So here's to hoping the best for the rest of our lives together. I look forward to all the adventures we're going to share: and please note that as a writer and a reader, I've come to understand that even the smallest moments can be adventures if you look at it right. This means that you don't have to feel pressured to always emblazon the times we spend together: I'm not picky when it comes to where we are while we're on a date, or what we're doing. 

Even if we just lie in bed all day and talk about nonsensical things and play with each other's hair, I wouldn't mind. It's you, specifically, that I've chosen. Not the places you took me out on dates. 

Although, a small hint, but I'm sure you know this by now from the time before we got married: I love toy stores and book stores, and maybe making random commentary on things while we're in them.

That doesn't mean I don't want to try new things though. If you ever get tickets to an awesome play, or to a new country, I would love to go with you. I guess all I really want is to be able to say I've made memories with you.

I'm sure I love you. And I'm sorry for the times I'm not exactly physically affectionate. I try my best to show it in whatever way I can. But I'm not cheesy or sweet. At least, not in the conventional way. I hope you understand that.

Also, I'm sorry for always taking your cookies.

Love,

Me(or whatever stupid pet name you may or may not have chosen to give me)

The Last

Author's Note: Maybe, probably, most likely the last.

21 poems all in all.

Goodbye, Dumdum.
///

I wanted to write you an eternal congregation
of embedded words and woven intricacies
that could come close to the poetry
that was so unapologetically you;
perhaps to convince myself
that I couldn't bleed out all over the words
until not a single of them was true.

I was grasping for the metaphors
and the little details of you
that had made you something inexplicable;
but lost them in the scrawl of ink
and the stains on crumpled paper
so I could bleed out all the poison
and formaldehyde your heart
had pumped into my system;
hoping eventually the trace you left
all over my veins
     would be forgotten.

And the stemmed flow of words
and the ink that won't run fast enough
to catch up with these echoes
only serves to remind me
that all those worlds are gone,
and their lights are flickering out,
dimming our universe down one by one.

So my dear, the door at the end
of the world is waiting
for you to go through
Until the keeper locks it up for good.
With the welded key as a reminder
that our adventures didn't last forever.
Our stars, our lightning, and our magic is gone
and it's time for us to take a bow:
     goodbye, my dear;
          it's all over now.